Gold
by hiholly123
Summary: The longer she could hold onto this feeling - of adventure, of distance, of hope - the better.
1. Time and Space

**Chapter 1: Time and Space**

On the outside, it seemed like it should have been tiny, hardly big enough for one person, let alone three. And if it was a time machine, it had to be full of controls, too, leaving even less space. But it was _huge_.

Huge and orange and bright.

The Doctor entered right behind Jessica, brushing past her and bounding energetically up the stairs. She blinked out of her confounded daze as Jack gently put a hand on her shoulder and propelled her a couple of steps forward, enough to fit himself in and close the door behind them.

"Holy shit," Jessica blurted. She looked up, scanning the high ceiling, all of the orange and glass and gleaming metal. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack and the Doctor exchange a grin. She turned her attention to the platform suspended in the middle of the room - made of glass, with glass stairs leading up to it, and a large, shiny contraption in the middle of it. It reminded her vaguely of the kidnappers' control panels, littered with buttons and levers, but the Doctor's was incredibly less organized. She thought she saw a ketchup dispenser, and a typewriter. He pulled a monitor over to him, the edges of which were littered with scrawled-upon sticky notes.

"That's what I said," Jack agreed.

The Doctor cleared his throat. Jessica, with effort, stopped her eyes from continuing to roam the room and looked at him. He beamed at her, spread his arms theatrically, and announced, "Welcome to the TARDIS, Jessica Jones!"

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "The _what_?"

"Time And Relative Dimensions in Space!" the Doctor exclaimed. "You have to say the thing, though, before we move on." He clapped his hands, and clasped them expectantly in front of him.

"The thing," Jessica repeated. Jack rolled his eyes, although he kept smiling. The Doctor only waited.

"You noticed the size difference," Jack clarified. "From the inside and the outside. Didn't you?"

"Uh…" Jessica glanced back to the Doctor, whose grin faltered. "Yeah. Hard not to."

"How would you _describe_ that difference?" the Doctor prompted.

Jessica squinted at him. "It's...bigger on the inside?"

"Bingo!" He whirled around, beaming once more, and started typing away on the typewriter. "So, Trish's apartment, yes?"

Jessica only took a moment to try and make sense of the previous exchange, before deciding to simply move on and ask questions later. "Yeah. How are you planning to explain this to her, exactly?"

The Doctor didn't look up, still busily typing. "Oh, I dunno. Pop in, say hello. Introduce myself. You can vouch for me, can't you?"

"I guess," Jessica said. "You know this is pretty weird, though, don't you?"

The Doctor paused. He flashed her a wild, mischievous grin. "I _specialize_ in weird, Jessica Jones." Jack rolled his eyes again. The Doctor didn't seem to notice, or maybe didn't care, and continued working. "Address, please?"

Jessica rattled it off. She still felt kind of...detached. She almost expected, at any moment, to wake up in Trish's apartment, with none of the past thirty minutes having happened at all. Maybe her brain was just making this up, trying to cope with the fact that she'd lost Kilgrave, or-

"Hold onto something," Jack warned, moments before the Doctor yelled, "Geronimo!" and threw down a lever. Jessica only just had time to grab onto a nearby rail.

The whole ship shuddered violently, practically throwing her into Jack. It occurred to her that the Doctor still wasn't exactly trustworthy, and with his controls cobbled together as they were, that likely meant that the rest of the ship was the same. It could rattle apart, flinging them into space, or time. She could die right here, and no one would ever know what the hell had happened to her.

The shuddering halted, as suddenly as it had begun, and Jessica almost flew into Jack again. The Doctor was babbling away already, or maybe he'd never actually stopped, saying, "You go first, Jones. She'll be worried enough without a stranger jumping out at her first thing."

Jessica briefly cast her eyes to the doors. "Did we even move?" she questioned. "Kinda felt like we just _rattled_."

The Doctor huffed, descending the stairs with a frown. "Of course we _moved!_ I can fly my own ship, thank you!"

"Some would beg to differ," Jack mumbled, just loud enough for the Doctor to hear.

"Oi!"

Jessica shook her head. The banter sounded familiar. She recalled similar barbs being exchanged on Trish's couch, not two days previously. But when she looked at the Doctor, she could only see the slightest shades of the man he claimed to have been. She had no reason to doubt him - Jack didn't, jumping right into familiarity like he wasn't speaking to an entirely new face. And she wasn't sure that she did, not really. She just...couldn't quite reconcile Kilgrave's wide brown eyes, freckled nose, and painful frustration with this new, floppy-haired, bowtie-clad, excitable Doctor in front of her.

This was not a situation she had _ever_ imagined herself being in. Goddamn, her life was weird.

The Doctor gestured grandly to the blue doors, bowing slightly. "After you."

Jessica took a step forward, grit her teeth, and pulled the doors open.

To find a gun in her face.

"Shit," she said, and dropped to the floor just as a shot fired off.

"No guns in my TARDIS!" the Doctor yelped, hardly audible for the ringing in Jessica's ears. " _Patricia Walker-_ "

"Jessica!" Trish said in something of a scream. "What the hell is this? You-you just-"

Jessica, heart in her throat, pulled herself up to standing again, and snatched the gun from Trish's hands. "Jesus Christ," she croaked. "Trish-" She found herself silenced as Trish pulled her into a frantic hug.

"It's really you, isn't it?" Trish whispered.

Jessica hesitantly wrapped her arms around Trish's back. "Yeah, yeah, it's me."

"Oh, not again," the Doctor muttered. "I swear I hit the right year. You saw me, Jack, I did, didn't I? I swear-"

Jessica ignored him, gently pulling back from Trish. "What happened? What the hell's with the gun?"

"A blue box appeared in my living room," Trish said. She met Jessica's eyes, with suspicion and fear overwhelming any relief. "It's been a couple of days, Jessica. We haven't heard from you."

"Thank Rassilon," the Doctor breathed. Jessica twisted to look at him, finding him leaning heavily in the TARDIS' doorway. "Right year," he said, a smile alighting on his face. "Couple days late, not too bad."

Jessica tucked the gun into the back of her jeans before Trish could even think to make a grab for it again. "It's a time machine," she explained, more weakly than she'd intended. Trish's eyes flew to Jack, and then to the Doctor. Jessica thought she saw some vague sort of horrified recognition there.

"Okay," she said, dragging out the word. "Explain."

* * *

"No way," Luke said, a few hours later. He paced around the Doctor, who kept trying to track the other man with his eyes.

"Ta-da," the Doctor said with a grin. "It's magic! Except not. Not at all like magic, actually. Science-y. Biology stuff."

Luke paused, narrowing his eyes. They scanned over the Doctor, who stood remarkably still. "Okay, maybe I can sort of believe it."

"One thing stays constant," Jack put in with a smirk, "the Doctor's ability to speak absolute nonsense."

"It's not nonsense," the Doctor argued, crossing his arms.

"You just like to talk to hear your own voice," Jack said.

"And?"

Luke brought a hand to his face, palm to the eyes in a self-soothing gesture. Jessica twitched, fighting the desire to go to him, touch his hand, something. He was standing pointedly apart from her, guardedly, and kept stealing disbelieving glances at her.

She could give him some space. She understood. And, more than anything else, she was good at keeping her distance from people. No matter how much she might not want to.

"Anyway!" the Doctor exclaimed. Luke lifted his head. Trish worried at her lip with her teeth, pensive and tired. Jessica herself was beginning to feel the drag of the past few days' events in full. The Doctor's surprise arrival and the following excitement had burned most of it away at first, but it was creeping back. "We were sort of thinking of going on a bit of a trip!" the Doctor explained. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Interested?"

Trish met Jessica's eyes. "A trip where?" she asked.

"Anywhere you'd like," the Doctor said. He had that grin on again, the one he'd worn when he'd introduced the idea to Jessica. She'd never seen anything even close to an expression that genuinely excited on the other Doctor's face. "I'm not a big fan of guns, but under the circumstances I suppose I can excuse your response."

"A trip in your time machine," Luke clarified. The Doctor nodded.

Jessica cleared her throat. "I'm going," she offered. Trish stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "It's all of time and space, Trish," Jessica said, maybe a little peevishly. "God knows I need a fucking break."

"What better way to vacation than throughout the universe?" the Doctor encouraged. "There're lots of lovely places all over. Boring, most of them, but lovely all the same. And you lot might like a bit of boring, anyhow. Bit of a rest. A repose. A-"

"When did you decide this?" Trish asked, still staring. "Jess, I don't know…after everything that's happened..."

"Isn't there anywhere you'd want to go?" the Doctor prodded. "Anywhen? We could go see New York City's first settlers! We could go ice skating on the universe's most ice-skating-friendly planet. We could go to any concert, any show you've ever wanted to see. Ooh, there's the sand dunes of Ra IV, although I've heard those have a little bit of a...well, an infestation problem, so maybe not. Could be fun, though."

Trish blinked a few times. Glancing to Luke, Jessica found him wide-eyed and disbelieving.

"Ice skating?" Trish said.

"I've been to that planet," Jack put in. "Nice place. Do you bring _everyone_ you meet there, Doc?"

"Your criticisms are being ignored," the Doctor informed him. "And for your information, no, the Ponds haven't been yet."

"But they _are_ going."

"Ohhh," the Doctor grumbled, "...hush."

Luke slowly shook his head. "This is a lot to process," he said.

"Er, right, suppose that's fair," the Doctor replied, rocking on his heels, face falling just slightly. "It's been a busy few days for you all." He glanced to Jack. "I have to admit, I sort of might have forgotten that this could have been a bad time. A bit sudden, maybe."

"Sudden is a good word," Jessica said.

His face fell just the tiniest bit more. "Well, I don't want to pressure you. Is it peer pressure if we aren't the same species? Good question. Er, don't let me...do that. Whether it is peer pressure or just regular pressure. Any pressure." He cleared his throat, jabbed a thumb to the door while straightening up. "I'll just leave you to it, shall I? No rush."

"We didn't say no," Luke pointed out. His voice came tired, and he looked worse than he sounded, but Jessica saw a light in his eye that jerked at her heart. It was something like wonder, or hope, or excitement. Things she all-too-rarely found on Luke's face.

Trish nodded, jerky and uncertain, but she had a spark in her eyes, too.

A grin spread over the Doctor's face, and Jessica found herself very nearly mirroring as something warm and hopeful blossomed in her chest.

"Then let's go pick up Ianto," Jack declared.

* * *

Ianto had a sort of round face, an air of anxiety about him, and a well-worn, sharp suit. He didn't react nearly as badly as the others to the TARDIS' sudden appearance in what Jack had called only "the Hub."

He also took a little bit less convincing to come aboard.

"Come on," Jack said, "pack a bag."

Ianto eyed him, visibly uncertain. His eyes skirted over the rest of them, assembled just behind Jack, crowding the doorway in order to see.

"Don't worry," the Doctor put in, "we're keeping the excitement to a healthy level this time."

"No more mutant killer robot monsters?" Ianto checked, which had Jessica wondering, again, what the hell she was thinking.

"Most likely not," the Doctor hedged. "I don't want to absolutely promise that there won't be - but listen, it's not like you lot are doing any better down here, are you?"

Ianto exchanged another look with Jack, who started smiling.

"Fine," Ianto said, a hesitant smile creeping over his face. "Give me five minutes."

Introductions were made as Ianto re-entered with a small duffel, although Jessica noted that the Doctor kept them vague. He didn't mention where he'd met them, or when, or how. He simply said, "this is Jessica Jones, Trish Walker, Luke Cage-"

And Ianto didn't ask. Didn't even seem surprised. He responded only, "Hello. I'm Ianto. Jones as well, actually."

"Jones and Jones," the Doctor sing-songed. "Maybe we should pick up Martha, too, make it a full trifecta. The holy trinity of Jones. The-"

"It's probably a less good idea to show up at Martha's door unannounced," Jack advised, though he was smiling.

"And she's got Mickey, and a job, I know," the Doctor dismissed. "Maybe later."

Jack linked his arm though Ianto's. "I'll try giving her a call."

"Just like old times," the Doctor said, still grinning.

Jessica leaned against the railing surrounding the console. "You have a lot of friends," she remarked. Trish sat down on the bench a few feet away. Jack and Ianto lingered by the doors, having started a back-and-forth in some European language. Jessica thought she recalled Jack mentioning that Ianto was Welsh, but she couldn't remember exactly.

The Doctor hummed. He turned a couple of dials. "I think you'll like the Ponds," he said. He paused, then sharply looked up, scanning the room. His eyes slowly widened. "It's a couple's cruise."

Jessica glanced to Trish, who smiled bemusedly back. "What?" Jessica asked.

"You and Luke, Jack and Ianto, the Ponds...it's a couple's cruise." Jessica couldn't decide if he looked horrified or amused. She tried to ignore how Luke turned his eyes to the ground when he called them a couple, and her own pain growing in her chest.

Trish laughed, in such a way that Jessica immediately knew she was fighting to change the topic. "Well, I'm still single."

The Doctor turned to her, pointing a finger. "Maybe we'll find you a boyfriend, then."

"In all of time and space?" Trish asked with a grin.

"Naturally. Plenty of fish in the sea. Don't worry, I'll make sure he's human. I know how you lot can get about that kind of thing."

Jessica took a deep breath. "The Doctor's going to find you a space boyfriend," she said. She would have laughed, if it wasn't actually fucking happening.

The Doctor beamed. "That I will."

Jessica looked up to the ceiling again, taking in the color and shine and alien-ness of it all. Her dark clothes, which helped her blend in well in the city crowds, now felt stark and obnoxious against the brightness of the Doctor's ship. It was, strangely, kind of nice.

To be somewhere different. To feel like things had changed. In the weeks the Doctor had been in her apartment, things had started to feel stale and hopeless and dim. And he'd left them in much of the same state, the only difference being the new knowledge they had to contend with.

But now Jessica was leaving. Not just leaving the city, leaving the _planet_.

The TARDIS shuddered and lurched, but this time Jessica was prepared enough to not go spinning into anyone else.

* * *

'The Ponds' were a young couple named Amy and Rory. Amy was tall and leggy, with shockingly red hair; Rory had an impressive nose and a nervous smile. They dressed nicely, clearly not wanting for money, in warm fall colors. They brought only a suitcase and a laptop bag with them, and they greeted the Doctor like he was their oldest friend.

"We're going ice skating," the Doctor informed them. Amy immediately grinned, while Rory looked a bit skeptical.

"Where'd he find you lot?" Amy asked them all, while the Doctor busied himself at the console.

Jessica wasn't sure where to begin. She glanced to Trish, who was biting her lip. Luke spoke up first, saying, "New York City."

"What year?" Amy pressed, like it was normal. Jessica guessed it was, for her. She leaned against the railing on the stairs, looking them over. "Not too far from us, I'm guessing."

"2015," Luke said.

"What's 2015 like?" Amy asked. "We're 2011, me and Rory."

Jessica's first thought was _the Incident_ , and she felt Trish go still beside her. Luke, having joined them on the Doctor's bench, stiffened.

"That's not reassuring," Rory muttered.

"The world doesn't end," Luke offered, though his voice was a little rough. "It's an American thing, anyway. You guys...you'll probably be fine."

Amy and Rory exchanged a glance.

"Don't worry about that," the Doctor put in, making them all jump. He didn't sound even the slightest bit concerned. Jessica's nerves itched - he knew how New York had suffered, didn't he? He had to know. If he was a time traveller, he'd have to know. Wouldn't he?

"If you say so," Amy said, though she didn't sound too happy about it.

"No spoilers," the Doctor told her. "Sorry, Pond. TARDIS policy."

"Doctor," Rory complained.

"We're going ice skating," the Doctor repeated. He finally looked up from the console, to fix each of them with a remarkably stern glare. "And we're going to have fun, and not talk about bad things."

"Okay," Trish agreed, all too ready to be done. "There's nothing we can do about it anyway, right?"

The Doctor pointed at her, a smile threatening to emerge. "Exactly right, Trish Walker. Now." He turned a few dials, and moved again to the large lever that would send them off. "Hold on, everyone."

The TARDIS shook, as usual, and that peculiar grating sound filled the room. Amy was smiling again, grabbing at Rory's hand, although she seemed a little more subdued. The Doctor, for his part, seemed to have forgotten it all entirely, as he grinned up at the ceiling with unrestrained joy.

The moment they landed, he was bounding down the stairs, past the Ponds and Jack and Ianto, and throwing open the doors. All Jessica could see from her vantage point by the console was blinding whiteness. A rush of cold air swept into the TARDIS, enough force behind it that Jessica could feel it several yards away.

Jack whistled. The Doctor held his arms out wide, as if trying to embrace the air itself.

"Looks like we'll need boots or something," Ianto remarked.

"Don't be silly," the Doctor said, and started off into the blistering snow.

"Doctor!" Amy called, though she was grinning. Beside her, Rory seemed a little more concerned.

Jessica adjusted her boots, and wound her scarf a little more tightly around her throat. "I'll go after him, I guess," she said. Her jacket would be a little thin, but she would probably live. And she had to admit, she was a little too excited to be on a new planet to care all that much.

"Me and Rory'll take you all to the wardrobe room for some proper coats," Amy declared. "You sure you're okay, Jessica?"

Jessica nodded, even as she was heading down to the doors. "Bring me something?" she asked Trish, who nodded eagerly back.

"Be careful," Luke called, a smile twitching at his lips. Jessica pretended that her heart didn't flip at the acknowledgement.

"I will," she promised, and stepped into the wind, closing the doors behind her. Her feet immediately sunk into snow, deep enough that it started to seep into the tops of her boots. So much for that. She squinted through the blinding light and picked out the Doctor not too far ahead, making his way to a large reflective surface. The promised ice skating, she presumed.

Pulling her scarf up to cover her mouth, she followed the Doctor's footsteps, planting each foot carefully in the prints he'd left in a vain attempt to salvage something of her already-freezing feet. By the time she made it halfway to the frozen lake or pond or whatever it was, the Doctor was already spinning out on the ice and making a fool of himself. It put her a little more at ease.

"Jessica!" he exclaimed, turning himself over to sit on the ice. "Where's everybody else?"

"Being responsible and getting coats," she replied. Her voice came out muffled through the scarf, but the Doctor paid that no mind.

"Bah," the Doctor said, waving his hand disdainfully. Carefully, he stood again, wobbling on the ice. "Who needs _coats_. Humans are funny."

Jessica ignored the vague jab, and continued walking towards him. "You aren't cold?" she asked doubtfully.

"I don't get cold," the Doctor declared, all too proudly. He skated forward, and immediately fell again, prompting Jessica to smirk at him. He didn't even seem to notice her, too busy attempting to disguise a wince. "This body's a bit less agile than previous ones, though," he admitted. "A little bit...flaily." He then pointed at her. "Don't tell Amy I said that."

Jessica kept smirking. "I won't," she said. She paused as she reached the edge of the ice, crossing her arms over her chest as if that would somehow keep her warmer. Fortunately, the wind was beginning to die down to a less painfully cold level, though her hair still whipped around her face.

"I don't believe you," the Doctor said, but he didn't seem terribly bothered. He got to his feet again, and once he was apparently satisfied with his position, looked up at her and grinned. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"It'll hold our combined weight?" she checked. She peered down at the ice - it was remarkably clear, enough so that she could see down to the sand beneath.

"That's what makes this the best planet for skating!" the Doctor explained, his eyes lighting up. He spun in a cautious circle, somehow managing to keep his balance. "Beautiful clear ice, and incredibly strong. It stays cold like this for the majority of the year - I've never even seen the ice crack, all the times I've been here." He performed another careful spin, slightly faster, and held himself up again. "There are plenty of reliable places on Earth to skate, but it's not nearly as fun."

Jessica had to concede to that. She took a step onto the ice, planting all of her weight on that foot to avoid slipping. She'd learned the technique from her mother, when she had learned to skate as a child. The memory surfaced, unbidden, in a blur of color and cold and her mother's soft laughter.

Distracted by the new pain in her chest, she slipped, and fell flat on her ass on the ice, hard enough that she was sure she would bruise. She found herself staring up at the Doctor, who looked down at her with an oblivious grin. "See?" he said. "Not so easy, is it?"

She pushed the memory away, and glared up at him. "I got distracted," she defended. He backed away while she scrambled awkwardly up, trying to ignore the pain in her tailbone. "I learned to skate when I was a kid."

"You don't act like it," he snarked. She threw a hand out to smack his arm, and in the process of trying to escape, he toppled over. She laughed, and the air was cold and surprisingly refreshing in her lungs. "Oh, hush," he said.

While he got to his feet again, Jessica gazed across the snowy landscape. In all directions, there was nothing but snow, except for the sharp blue of the TARDIS back where they'd come from. Everything was clean, seemingly untouched by any life whatsoever. Besides her and the Doctor's footprints, and the TARDIS on the horizon, there was no sign of life at all.

Having come from the packed streets of the city, it felt like a breath of fresh air. And speaking of - the air was clean, too. Untainted. Free of cigarettes and gas and engine fumes. It didn't feel like another planet, not really - Jessica had seen winters like this in New York, and Central Park in the dead of winter was a beautiful place. But New York winters were never so smooth or silent.

Her eye caught the TARDIS doors opening, and a group of dark figures, clad in puffy coats and long scarves, emerged. Amy and Rory lead the way, only so distinctive because of Amy's hair. Luke, highly visible with his height and dark skin, took up the rear. He raised a hesitant hand in greeting when he saw Jessica staring at him, and she waved hesitantly back.

It felt like things might be okay. At least a little bit. They probably still had a lot of work to do. But he hadn't brought it up, and she wasn't about to start the conversation herself. Not anytime soon.

"Took you long enough!" the Doctor shouted at them.

"Shove off!" Amy shouted back. "Some of us like to be _warm_ , thank you."

The Doctor made a _tsk_ noise. He skated to the side, and then back. Showing off, Jessica suspected with a smirk.

The others arrived soon enough, all clambering onto the ice in heavy boots. Trish said, "you look half frozen, Jess," as she handed over the coat she'd brought for Jessica.

"I'm okay," Jessica insisted, even as she shrugged it on. Trish grabbed her hands the moment she was done, and pulled her farther onto the ice. They nearly fell into a snowdrift, and Trish laughed. It was a surprising, happy sound. Jessica couldn't remember when she'd last heard Trish laugh like that.

Jack and Ianto busied themselves performing half-stumbling skating tricks. As much as they could without actual skates, that is. Jack seemed pretty sure of himself, but Ianto was nowhere near as confident. Ianto did most of the stumbling. Jack took it in stride; even seemed to find it charming. Jessica had to admit that it made a cute picture.

Amy pushed the Doctor forward on the ice, and he fell. Rory tumbled over himself as he laughed.

Luke hovered at the edge of the ice, expression unreadable. Jessica's stomach flipped, and she bid Trish a quick, _one second_ , and headed over to him. He smiled at her, just a little, as she approached him.

"Never learned how to skate?" she asked, hands on her hips. The words felt heavy and uncertain in her mouth, but they came out relatively confident. Breezy, without much of the awkwardness she'd expected.

"I'm from Georgia," he said. It sounded like a confession.

Jessica looked him over, her heart doing an odd skip in her chest, and extended her hands to him. For the first time in what felt like ages, he had trusted her with something. Something small, but it was something. "I'm not an expert," she warned. "I haven't skated in a long time. And you're supposed to actually have skates." She cleared her throat. "So."

The smile twitched, just a bit wider. "It might be easier without them, anyway," he said. "I feel like having to balance on blades is a little more difficult."

Jessica couldn't help but smile herself. "Maybe." He took her hands, and his were warm, despite the cold. Her heart beat strong, loud enough that she could hear it in her ears. She pulled him, slowly, out onto the ice, closer to Trish. They wobbled precariously, but it might have been more related to their collective uncertainty than actual issues with balance.

Jessica would have denied that her breath came a little fast as he crept closer to her, but the truth was that it did. He was close enough to kiss her, now. They hadn't been close like this in days. Not since he'd discovered Kilgrave-or, the Doctor. What she couldn't deny, even to herself, was how relieved she was now.

He moved to hold her in his arms like they were dancing, and a smile forced itself to her lips.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack and Ianto share a quick kiss, before Ianto knocked Jack playfully to the ground. The following curses and laughter floated through the air. On their other side, Trish had joined the Doctor and the Ponds, and was trying to coach him into skating correctly - or, as correctly as he could without actual skates. Amy and Rory watched with twin smirks, which broke into giggles as the Doctor fell again.

Luke pulled her attention back in with a soft murmur. "Can we talk?" he asked. "Later, not right now, just…"

Jessica swallowed her nerves. "Yeah," she whispered back. All of her previous reservations flew out the window. She couldn't say no to Luke, not now. Especially not when he smiled at her - not a forced smile, nothing that promised pain in this future conversation. Warm and hopeful.

"Would it be kind of stupid to say that I missed you?" he asked. He ducked his head a little, in a way that made Jessica's heart twist and her knees go embarrassingly weak. She wondered, for a terrifying moment, how the hell she'd gotten here. With him. "It was only a few days, and I was so pissed. But I did. I was upset, because I thought…"

"You should have been upset," she said. "You, uh. I wouldn't have been surprised if you hated me."

"I don't," he said back, the words coming like a rush. "I really, really don't. Maybe I should."

Jessica swallowed back a lump in her throat. "Maybe."

He met her eyes again, and again that smile returned. "I want to try," he said. "This. Again. I like you, Jessica Jones. Maybe I shouldn't like you, either, but I do. I want to forgive you, despite everything. Maybe that's stupid, but it's the truth."

Her heart pounded. "I like you too. You don't have to forgive me. I don't want you to feel like you have to do that."

He kissed her.

"I want to try," he said again, as they parted.

Jessica was ready to try, too.

* * *

 **AN: Hey everybody! It's good to be back. :)**

 **I know I said at the end of Gray that this story would be posted a month or so later. Obviously, it's been much longer than that. And unfortunately, it's going to be a bit longer until I update again. I've been having an unexpected amount of trouble with a few of the chapters, and I've been writing and rewriting them for several weeks now. Bleh. I've got to get it just right, and it's not turning out like it needs to.**

 **But anyway, I thought I'd give you the first chapter as a taste - this is a little choppy, imo, but all the introductions and exposition needed getting out of the way, and I didn't want to keep you guys waiting more than I had to. It only gets better from here! :)**

 **I have no idea when I'll post chapter 2. I want to say that it'll be before school starts up again in late August, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my to-do list is going to turn out to be both longer and more complicated than I expect right now. As enjoyable as this story has been to write, it has also been an Adventure. And will probably continue to be.**

 **So let me know what you think! And I hope you've all been having a great summer so far :)**


	2. Life on Mars

**Chapter 2: Life on Mars**

The Doctor had immediately invited them all on another outing, and they had all, surprised, agreed. Jack hadn't seem too shocked, however, and neither had Amy or Rory. So maybe this had been the plan all along. Jessica couldn't say that she entirely minded.

The longer she could hold onto this feeling - of adventure, of distance, of hope - the better.

The Doctor showed them each to a room - besides Jack, who apparently had one already, which Ianto moved his single bag into, and the Ponds. They were all right next to each other, which Jessica between Luke's and Trish's. She'd half hoped that Luke would move in with her, but she supposed the distance was good. They had resolved to try, but that didn't mean they had to jump the gun and start sleeping together right away.

Maybe this was going to be a _real_ relationship.

All the rooms were unexpectedly large. But then, the TARDIS itself was, so maybe that should have been less of a surprise. Jessica hadn't even known that there had been bedrooms at all until the Doctor had shown them all into the long hallways beyond the console room.

Jessica had a solid dresser made of dark wood, and a wardrobe to go along with it. The bed was huge, and already made up with dark gray sheets and a thick comforter, with a soft throw blanket folded at the foot. It was nice. Thoughtful. Jessica could hardly believe it. There was a bathroom attached to the room as well, fully stocked with hair products and toothpaste and body wash, and the nicest, most confusing shower Jessica had ever laid eyes on.

She wondered, again, how exactly she'd ended up in this position. Was it bad luck, or good luck? Maybe a mix of both.

She went on a trip to the wardrobe room with Trish and Luke to find a few more changes of clothes, and she was struck again by the largeness of it all. The wardrobe room was absolutely gigantic, and full to the brim of all manner of clothes - old Victorian getups and 50s-style dresses, a hatrack piled with the most ridiculous headgear, rows and rows and rows of pants and shirts. Even drawers full of underwear and bras.

They each came away with several shirts and pairs of pants. Trish even made off with a few pairs of shoes.

They returned again before their next trip the next day, to pick up bathing suits, as the Doctor had promised them a beach trip.

"Alien beach," he said, as they filed into the console room. "Earth beaches are all well and good - but alien beaches are more fun."

And then he took them to an alien city, on a planet Jessica couldn't have pronounced the name of if she tried. They got a fair share of strange looks from the population, but it was almost nice to get a few second-glances. Different. They stopped in a nice restaurant for dinner, and stuffed themselves with weird alien foods, and Jessica didn't even have to worry about the bill.

It felt like a dream - the best kind of dream.

And if Jessica stepped carefully around the Doctor, he didn't mention it. And if the Ponds noticed, they kept their curiosity to nothing but critical glances.

They assembled for a movie at the end of the day, exhausted and a little sunburnt. Jessica leaned her head on Luke's shoulder, and her heart fluttered as he leaned into her. It all seemed so fragile, and Jessica expected it to shatter at any moment, but it didn't. Whether it was going to further in the future was yet to be seen, but for now...it held. Luke joined her in bed that night - they didn't have sex, but she was fine with just feeling him beside her, having his warmth heat up her covers.

The next morning, they all met for breakfast. Not by any spoken decision, but simply by chance. The Doctor was making coffee for ; Trish had set to work on her usual scrambled eggs. The Ponds were sat at the table, chattering and smiling at each other as young couples do. Trish cracked more eggs into the pan as Jack and Ianto entered the kitchen soon after Jessica and Luke.

They ate together, the Doctor bantering with Jack, Trish exchanging words with the Ponds. Jessica offered a few carefully-considered words of her own into the Doctor's conversation, and felt an unspeakable relief as he met them cheerfully.

She still wasn't sure how to act around him. She couldn't help but feel uncertain about their every interaction, and she had no idea what to make of him. He hadn't mentioned how they'd met even once so far, nor the events following that. Neither had Jack. They both seemed content to pretend it had never happened. It wasn't so easy for Jessica, and she suspected Trish and Luke were having similar problems. Luke's smiles came a little too wooden when aimed in the Doctor's direction. Trish always spoke a little too shrilly, and her words were always a little unsure.

Jessica figured maybe comfort would simply come in time. But if it never did, she wouldn't be surprised. After all, when he'd left, the Doctor had been fairly certain he was going to become Kilgrave. And though saying he hadn't been upset about it would have been an outright lie, he had...come to terms with it? Accepted it? The thought of that twisted Jessica's stomach. And he'd done it with the aliens, too - let them take their research with an "it already happened."

She wanted to ask about it, but it felt distant on the TARDIS. It hadn't happened anyway, after all. Maybe it said some unsavory things about his character, but Jessica could ignore that if it meant she would be seeing the universe. And with a new face and a new body and most of a new personality - he was pretty much a different person, in her head. The Doctor she'd first met and this one were firmly separated in her mind. Two different Doctors entirely. And he seemed to have forgotten about everything completely, anyway.

Still, it stayed on her mind. A thrum of unease that she couldn't quite get rid of - but it was easily enough ignored.

In any case, she could pretend - it was a skill she'd learned a long time ago. When the Doctor made a joke, she could laugh or scowl in disapproval at him, depending on the situation. When he deflected from any serious conversation, she could go along with it. They distracted themselves with the food, and the promise of adventure.

That night, they went to what the Doctor claimed was "the best stargazing spot in the universe." Jessica, wrapped in her old jacket, was the last out of the TARDIS, and so was the last to hold back a gasp of surprise as she looked upward. The others had barely made it out of the door, as shocked as they were. Jessica struggled to get out far enough to close the doors behind her.

She could see _galaxies_ in the night sky. Swirling patterns of stars in all manner of colors. She could see other planets, even, close enough to be clear outlines against the backdrop of stars; stars that shone so brightly that many of the planets were nothing more than silhouettes.

"Holy shit," she breathed. She looked to Luke, who still had his head craned backwards. An awed smile stretched over his face, his lips slightly parted. The stars shone in his eyes, lighting them up like diamonds, almost more breathtaking than the scenery. Their light turned his skin the slightest bit silver.

He caught her staring at him, and met her eyes with a wonder-filled grin. Her heart jumped in her chest, just a little bit.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" the Doctor said. He stretched his arms out, beaming. "We live in a gorgeous universe!"

Jessica thought of the grimy rags of the homeless on New York City streets; of her dirty apartment, stained with memories she would rather forget; of the sobs of broken-hearted wives over the phone. And Kilgrave. And those same types of things, and worse, existed all over Earth, and surely throughout the universe as well. Perhaps in even greater magnitudes beyond their little planet. And yet, despite all of that, her chest ached with the strength of her agreement as she tilted her head back to see the stars again.

Amy and Rory, with some help from Ianto and Jack, laid out the blankets they'd brought from inside. Luke and Trish passed out glasses of wine. In the warm air, similar to early Earth summer, the glasses were icy, and the wine itself pleasantly cool. It tasted far sweeter than any alcohol Jessica had become accustomed to over the years. She missed, for a moment, her glasses of whiskey. The flask at her belt had long since gone empty. She hadn't much needed it. But the wine was nice. Different. Another change that separated 'now' from 'then.'

All eight of them crowded onto the blankets, bundling up sweatshirts and jackets to use as headrests, so as to make it easy to lie down and drink at the same time.

"Cheers!" Jack called, and everyone else echoed him. Jessica, crammed between Trish and Luke, clinked her glass against theirs. Jessica watched as the Doctor took a sip of his wine, and then immediately spat it out.

"Doctor," Amy scolded. He tried again, this time gulping it down with a grimace. "You always do this," she continued, though she sounded amused.

"Alcohol tastes _bad_ ," the Doctor complained. "It just always surprises me."

"Don't be a baby."

Jessica hid her smile in her glass.

Silence fell as conversation died down and they became distracted again by the sight above them. Or at least, it was silent until the Doctor spoke up, excitedly pointing a finger upward.

"That's the constellation of Erh-Lang," he said. "There, it looks like a shield. If you sort of tilt your head. And there, that group of stars is the Disen constellation. Well, that's what you would call them on Earth. Here, they have other names." He made a few strange sounds, nasally and high-pitched.

Jessica shook her head, half in amusement, half in disbelief. The Doctor kept listing stars and constellations and galaxies, pointing this way and that, naming them in English and the apparent native language of their current location.

"So you're a real space expert?" Trish asked, a smile in her voice.

"Oh, absolutely," the Doctor exclaimed. "I know almost everything about almost every star in the universe! I've done my research."

"Well, you are an alien," Ianto remarked, bemused.

"I don't know what I know based solely on the fact that I'm not human, Jones. I may have slightly more knowledge than you lot on Earth simply based on the fact that I can travel further, but that doesn't mean you can't learn!" the Doctor said. "There are plenty of stars to be seen from Earth. Plenty to learn about."

"Not everybody has the time," Ianto pointed out.

The Doctor hummed. "I suppose that's true. Humans. Very, very...short-lived." He fell silent, curiously, almost darkly, silent. Jessica thought about what that implied, and then found herself wondering again exactly how old the Doctor was. He made it sound like...

Jack cleared his throat. "Well. I know that one's called Pele." He pointed toward a bright reddish star.

"Named after the Hawaiian god of volcanoes," Luke spoke up. "Because of the red, I assume."

"Exactly so," the Doctor jumped in. "It's got a couple planets, that one. Named after other fire and volcano gods, so it happens. Nice places, but not very habitable. Mineral planets."

Jessica elbowed Luke, evoking a sideways smile from him. "Since when do you know about Hawaiian gods?"

That smile turned sheepish. "I did a project in school, back when I was a kid. Kind of stuck with me."

"Well, you lot do love to name things after your gods," the Doctor said. "Good thing to learn about. History! Heritage! People make careers out of that."

Luke chuckled, laying back against his wadded-up sweatshirt and taking a sip of his wine. He looked peaceful, glowing slightly silver, the light of the stars still shining in his eyes and on his face.

"What's that one?" Rory inquired, pointing up.

The Doctor happily obliged him. "That's part of the Lada Formation - all of the blue there, that's it. It's amazing to stand in. The TARDIS fits right in out there."

The blue swept in a beautiful spiral, distant and bright. It wasn't too far from Pele, which glinted merrily beside several other constellations. The Doctor named a few more, only pausing to take another wincing gulp of wine.

Jessica pillowed her head on Luke's chest once her drink was finished. It wasn't enough alcohol for her to feel anything at all, but it warmed her insides just the slightest bit. Jack made a bad joke, and Amy laughed. Trish asked about a different star, and the Doctor told her what he knew. Jessica listened to Luke's heart beating steadily under her ear, and closed her eyes.

Silence fell again, for much longer this time. All Jessica could hear was the soft breathing of those around her, and Luke's heart. The air was turning chilly as the night progressed, and she draped her jacket over her torso like a blanket, pulling her legs in closer.

She opened her eyes again and stared up at the sky. It didn't get any less amazing. The longer she looked, the more stars she found, the more colors, the more patterns and constellations. It was terrifying and beautiful in equal measure.

"I suppose you'll want to go home," the Doctor ventured, more subdued than Jessica had heard him so far. Not unhappy, exactly, but something close. "I've kept you for longer than I said I would."

Jessica mulled this over. The thought of familiarity tempted her - memories of her own bed, of the Hell's Kitchen streets she knew better than her own face, of the routine of her normal life.

The stars overhead seemed to wink at her.

"Why?" Luke asked.

The Doctor coughed, sounding self-conscious. "I was having fun with you all. It's been a good time. I figured maybe-"

"No," Luke interrupted, "why would we want to go home?"

Silence. Then, the Doctor laughed, somewhat nervously. "Well. I don't know. It's nice, home. Nice to have a place to...are you saying you want to stay?"

"I think that's what he's saying," Amy piped up. Humor colored her voice. "Come on, Doctor. You know you don't actually want them to leave."

"The rest of you, you want to come along?" the Doctor asked. Jessica didn't expect him to sound so hopeful.

She gazed up at the stars. She could go home. It would be easy, like she had never left. She'd seen the universe, more than anyone else she knew could ever hope to see in their lives. She could be content with heading back.

But it didn't feel right, not entirely. Something itched at her - maybe it was the need to patch things up with Luke completely before they returned to their normal lives. Or the desire to know more about Jack and the Doctor, and who exactly they were. Or get any kind of answers, at all.

Besides that, though...sure, she'd been to a few places - but there was so much left to see. Looking up at the endless stars, going on and on into eternity, fading into the black of space, solidified that for her.

"Sure," she said.

Trish, a smile evident by the tone of her voice, pitched in an "absolutely."

"You know I'm in," Jack said. "Ianto?"

"I don't think I'm ready to go back just yet," Ianto admitted.

The Doctor hummed - a deep, satisfied sound. "Okay," he said. It sounded like he might be smiling, too. "Okay."

* * *

 **Whew! Sorry it took me so long everyone, the writer's block was intense the past few weeks. But I feel like I'm in a good enough place now with enough of this story to start posting more regularly! :) My school schedule is a little crazy, so at some point I might have to start doing updates every other week, but we'll see about that. So far, so good. For now, I'm planning to update every Tuesday afternoon.**

 **I hope the wait was worth it, and I hope you're all excited for the next installment! Please let me know what you all thought :)**


	3. The Ponds

"Yes, I can come pick you up." The Doctor's voice came through just loud enough for Trish to hear in the hall, over the sound of the brush carding through her wet hair. Curious, she approached the door to the console room, peering around to see the Doctor fiddling with the controls, an old-fashioned spiralling cord stretching from some part of the console to something in his hand. A phone, it looked like, and an old model at that. Trish was reminded of weekend evenings in middle school spent locked in her room with the telephone, cord pinched in the doorway.

He continued, "We've got guests, too, just so you know. Besides Amy and Rory." He paused. "There's Jack, who I think you've met by now. His partner Ianto. Some new friends of mine, Jessica and Luke and Trish. No, Trish is single." Trish raised an eyebrow. "Well, I didn't mention that, no." Another lengthy pause. "I'm going to set her up, anyhow. Space boyfriend, Jessica called it." He laughed. "Don't we all. No, don't worry, just you. I'm the space boyfriend." He moved to the typewriter, and in the process happened to look up and spot Trish in the doorway. "Oh, Trish is up. Hullo Trish!"

She waved at him, not bothering to hide her curious expression, and he grinned.

"Yes, I'll be there soon," he said. "I'll give you an hour or two to get your things around. How long are you wanting to stay? We can play it by ear, that's fine. Okay. Bye." He hung up with a flourish, and spun in place. "Trish Walker, how are you?"

Eyebrows still raised, Trish joined him by the console. "I'm good," she said. "Who was that?"

She thought for sure she was mistaken when she saw him go a little red. But sure enough, when she looked again, his cheeks had flushed. "Er, a friend," he replied.

"Girlfriend?" Trish asked. "Boyfriend?"

"Something like that," the Doctor said with a bit of a sigh. "So nosy. Well, you'll meet her in a few minutes anyway, I suppose it doesn't matter. Where's everyone else?"

He was obviously deflecting, but Trish wasn't practiced enough at keeping him on topic - when she'd done it while he'd been stuck at Jessica's, it had never ended too well. And even here, her attempts to get solid answers didn't appear to be improving. The other day, when she'd asked him about going to see his home planet, she hadn't been able to squeeze more than a wishy-washy "we'll see" out of him about it. She wasn't sure how to do it tactfully. She felt sometimes as if she could barely hold a tension-free conversation with him. But she intended to learn.

"Last I knew, having breakfast," she told him. "I left them at it to take a shower. They could be anywhere by now."

"Jack's in the kitchen," the Doctor said absently, turning his attention back to the typewriter. He punched in a series of words and numbers, turned a couple of dials, flipped a few switches.

Trish shook her head. "That gives me the creeps," she admitted. He gave her a slight smile.

"I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not. It's honestly quite fun," he said. "Nice party trick."

Trish smiled. "I guess."

"I assume the others are nearby. Care to round them up for me?" Now he was trying to get rid of her. Well, they weren't exactly friends, although it had warmed Trish's heart a little to hear him call her one on the phone. Acquaintances, maybe, working their way towards an understanding. It was hard to put the past behind them, at least for Trish. The Doctor seemed unbothered. But then, it had apparently been much longer for him. She still wasn't sure how to proceed with their developing relationship.

Anyway. He probably just wanted to be alone to meet his girlfriend, or whoever she was. Trish could understand that. She wasn't sure she wanted to even be there for that. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll get them around."

He grinned.

Sure enough, the others were where Trish had left them, although their plates were now piled in the sink and they'd resorted to idle chit-chat at the table. Jessica and Luke sat close together, elbows touching. Amy and Rory were not nearly so discreet, Amy half on Rory's lap. Jack was cleaning dishes while Ianto nodded at something Rory was saying.

Trish knocked on the counter as she entered, prompting them all to pause and look up at her. "It sounds like we're going to head off pretty soon," she announced. "The Doctor sent me to get you guys together."

"He couldn't come do it himself?" Amy asked, eyebrows lifting. "What's he up to?"

Just as she spoke, the kitchen shook, just a tremor of a movement. Trish had no idea why the rest of the ship experienced only a fraction of the displacement as the console room - the Doctor had fudged the details a little - but the small movement was enough to tip her off that they'd landed somewhere.

"Visiting a girlfriend, sounded like," Trish said. "I suspect he's doing it as we speak."

Immediately, Amy and Rory straightened up, eyes widening. A smile broke over Amy's face. "River!" they exclaimed, in unison.

"I take it you've met, then," Jessica gathered, dryly.

Rory coughed, face going oddly red. "Yeah, uh. A few times."

Amy patted him on the back. "Well, I think we're allowed to go say hello. The rest of you lot - we'll see you down there, yeah?" She and Rory hopped up and headed out the door, apparently heedless of the fact that they were still in pajamas.

The others got up, somewhat reluctantly, and vanished into their respective rooms. Trish, already dressed, simply dropped her brush off on her dresser and made her way back to the console room.

She heard them before she even made it to the doorway - a woman's laugh, and the Doctor's voice. Then, Rory, making a choking noise.

"You'd think you would be used to it by now," the woman teased. She had an English accent, too, like the Doctor. "We aren't even too terribly gross. We could be much worse. Don't get me started on you two-"

"We get the picture," Amy interrupted, half laughing. "Don't mind him." As Trish rounded into the doorway, she saw Amy embracing a figure with a head full of wild blonde hair.

The moment the two pulled apart, the new woman was looking up at Trish, a smile already on her face. She was older, Trish immediately noticed, probably late forties or so. Mischievous brown eyes, face full of expertly-applied makeup. She wore a practical outfit - form-fitting black pants and a red top, completed with a pair of tall black boots. "Hello there," she said, smile only growing as Trish descended the stairs to the console.

"Hello," Trish replied, smiling back. "I'm Trish Walker."

They shook, and the woman returned, "River Song. Nice to meet you."

"And you." Trish glanced toward the Doctor, who watched the both of them expectantly, almost anxiously. "So. Are you two together, then?"

The Doctor made a sort of spluttering noise, but River just laughed. "Are we that obvious?" she asked, looping an arm around the Doctor's shoulders and dragging him closer to her.

"I might have been interrogating the Doctor earlier," Trish admitted. "He wouldn't give me a straight answer."

River released the Doctor, and playfully smacked his shoulder. "Don't tell me you're ashamed of me!" she teased.

The Doctor flushed. "Don't be silly." Trish had never seen him so flustered before, hadn't even imagined he could _get_ this flustered.

"Where's everyone else?" Amy asked.

"I imagine they're getting dressed," the Doctor piped up, with a pointed look at Amy's dolphin-printed pajama pants that earned him another light smack on the arm, this time from Amy.

"He does have a point," River added. "I don't know that pajamas make a particularly good adventuring outfit."

"Adventuring?" Trish asked, heart jumping.

River grinned. "Of course. What _else_ would we be doing?"

"We've been trying to keep things tame," the Doctor told her. "Minimal running."

"We've done _no_ running," Amy said, crossing her arms. "I almost miss it."

Rory winced. "Now you've done it." Trish started to wonder what, exactly, she was getting herself into here.

River's grin turned to a near-devilish smirk. "Well, that settles it then," she declared. "A real adventure is in order." She spun to the console, eyes glinting, and ran her hands over it contemplatively. "Hmm. I'm thinking...we should let the TARDIS decide."

"Oh, she'll throw us in a volcano that way," the Doctor quipped. Trish frowned. She opened her mouth to question the 'she' remark, but was cut off as the floor suddenly rumbled underneath their feet. Reflexively, she grabbed at the nearest railing, but the rumbling died down almost immediately. The Doctor pressed a hand to the cylinder rising up from the console and soothed, "Sorry, dear. You don't have the best track record, though, you know that."

No one else seemed perturbed by the rumbling. Amy and Rory were _laughing_.

"What the hell was that?" Trish blurted, though she felt like perhaps she already knew.

River grinned at her. "The TARDIS. Didn't the Doctor mention? She's alive."

Maybe she should have been more shocked, but Trish couldn't summon up anything more than a faint surprise. "So the rooms really do move," she managed. "I wasn't imagining that."

"Yeah, she does that on occasion," the Doctor chimed in. "I should have mentioned, you know, but it slipped my mind."

"When did you become such a terrible host, Doctor?" River chided, poking him sharply in the ribs.

"I'm a fantastic host," the Doctor insisted, crossing to the other side of the console to avoid further contact.

Someone from the top of the stairs laughed. Jack. "I don't know about that," he chuckled. "You almost let me set the whole library on fire once, don't you remember?"

"I was _busy_ ," the Doctor informed him, jabbing a finger at his approaching friend. Trish caught Jessica's eye, where she stood with Luke behind Jack and Ianto. There was a light of good humor there Trish hadn't seen in a long time.

"Everybody," Amy announced, "this is River. River, meet Jack, Ianto, Jessica, and Luke."

"Oh, I've met Jack," River purred, a devilish grin on her face to rival the Doctor's.

Jack patted Ianto's shoulder. "Not like that," he said, though he was grinning. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, back to River. Despite his claims, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oi!" the Doctor exclaimed, going red again. His hands fluttered uselessly, as he visibly struggled with what he was meant to do about this situation. Trish, for her part, understood _exactly_ what Jack had done what he had - seeing the Doctor so frustrated was undeniably amusing.

Sure enough, Jack waved the Doctor off with a dismissive, "it's just fun to get a rise out of you, Doc." River laughed.

"I feel incredibly outnumbered," the Doctor muttered. With a dark glance at Jack, he sidled back over to River and clasped a hand loosely around one of hers. Her grin only grew in magnitude.

"I suppose we'll go get dressed," Rory chimed in. "Adventuring clothes, you said?" There was a certain amount of resigned uncertainty in his tone, but Trish managed to detect the unmistakable twinge of excitement accompanying it.

The Doctor exchanged a glance with River, in which she nodded encouragingly, that mischievous smile still pasted on her face. "Yes!" the Doctor decided. "Adventuring clothes."

"Adventuring where?" Luke piped up. He released Jessica's hands to cross his arms. Trish hid a smile as she saw Jessica (seemingly unconsciously) mimicking him.

River leaned toward them a little, bending over the console. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

"Randomizers on," the Doctor announced, flicking a few switches. He then pressed a hand to the cylinder rising out of the console. "Be nice to us, dear."

The Ponds returned shortly, clad in clothes meant for good weather but toting along thick winter coats. "Adventuring clothes," Amy told them all, knowingly, as she caught their confused expressions.

Trish eyed her own jeans-and-t-shirt getup. "Maybe I should change."

"Ah, it'll be fine," the Doctor assured. "The TARDIS will take it into account. She's considerate like that."

Before anyone else could question the TARDIS' state of existence, he threw the take-off lever, and the room shuddered with all its usual drama.

"You never use the stabilizers!" River chided over the grinding noise.

"There are stabilizers?" Jessica demanded. "What the hell, Doctor?" Trish had to agree, as she nearly toppled over and bashed her head on the railing.

"It's more fun this way!" the Doctor called back, grinning madly.

Well. Trish supposed he was right about that, at least.

* * *

In the aftermath, Trish was unable to think about much else besides her wobbly legs, made useless from frantic running. But she was also full of a sleepy contentment like little else that she'd felt before - the kind of contentment that only came after doing something good and productive.

Such as overthrowing a totalitarian government, which was...nothing something she had much experience with. Or hadn't had, up until now.

"Tea?" Trish blinked, tearing herself away from the blank gaze she'd had directed at the kitchen table to look up at River's smiling face. The woman was half-turned away, already setting several mugs on the counter by the stove.

Trish smiled back. "Sure. What kind?"

River hummed, and headed to a different cupboard. "Earth tea or alien tea? We have...Earl Grey, green, knoxknarlian root-"

"Chamomile?" Trish tried. She craned her head over enough to catch a glimpse into the cupboard, and saw nothing but shelves and shelves and shelves of tea. Unless she was mistaken, the cupboard was far bigger on the inside than it appeared…

River reached an arm in up to her armpit, and pulled out a shiny gray box of teabags. "Nice and soothing," she said, "good idea." She set a pot of water to boil. "A snack or anything for you?"

Now that she mentioned it, Trish's stomach had been protesting faintly in the background for some time. "Sure," Trish agreed. "Thanks. Earth food, if you don't mind."

River chuckled, already hunting through the cupboards. "Not at all."

Trish propped her chin on her hand, and set her elbow on the tabletop. She sleepily watched River move about the kitchen, only realizing that she'd been on her way to dozing when the whistling kettle startled her.

River poured them each a mug, leaving a few remaining on the counter, and sat across the table from Trish with a sigh, setting a plate of crackers between them. Gratefully, Trish accepted the mug as it was offered to her, and wrapped her hands eagerly around its heat.

"Tired?" River said, nothing but smiles and sympathy.

Trish smiled back. "Very. But it's a good tired."

River hummed in agreement. She cupped her own hands around her tea and sighed again. "I'm glad it all went well today," she said. "We've been known to get in a spot of trouble in situations like this." That sympathy turned just a little bit wicked. "You were quite impressive though."

"I did track for a minute in middle school," Trish admitted.

"I was more talking about the dressing down you gave that minister, but the running was good, too," River smirked. Trish felt her cheeks heat a little, despite herself.

"I have a radio show," she explained. "I've had a few lively debates with some callers."

River laughed. "I can imagine. In any case, I respect your backbone."

Trish grinned. "Thanks." She took an experimental sip of her tea, and although it burned her tongue it tasted so delicious she hardly cared. River copied her, eyes dancing happily. "So. How did you meet the Doctor?"

She'd thought it would be a safe topic of conversation - River and the Doctor were very obviously happy - so she was caught off guard when the smile fell from River's face and the woman turned her eyes to the table. She was quiet for so long that Trish opened her mouth to take it back, but the apologies never made their way out.

"We have a sort of complicated past," River revealed. She hid the hitch of pain in her voice well, but Trish had too much practice seeing past Jessica's walls to miss it. River was remarkably like Jessica, Trish thought. "He's a time traveller, so...we aren't exactly in order." At last, the woman looked up, and the depth of sorrow in her eyes made Trish's heart ache with profound sympathy. "His past is my future, and vice versa."

Trish had nothing else to offer but a weak, "I'm sorry." She decided to distract herself with a cracker, hoping it might somehow diffuse the tension.

River's mouth quirked up on one side, and she shook her head with a wild flying of blonde hair. "I shouldn't be dumping all this on you," she said with remarkable good humor. "We've only just met."

"We did bring democracy to an alien planet together," Trish pointed out, fighting for something equally light-hearted. "I think that makes us fairly close."

River's slight smile widened by a fraction. "You do have a point." She took a sip of her tea, and Trish followed suit. "I tried to kill the Doctor when I first met him."

Trish nearly did a spit take, but instead burned her throat as she hastily gulped down the tea.

"Exactly," River said. Somehow she was still smiling. "It's a strange story. I won't bore you with the details, but at that time in my life I was fully convinced that he was evil. It didn't help that he'd done a fabulous job of disappointing my mother."

Turning this over mentally didn't give Trish any new information, so she ventured forward with a question. "Your mother?"

River eyed her, a kind of thoughtfulness in her eyes that made Trish itchy. "My mother met the Doctor when she was very young. She thought he was magic. He had to leave her not long after they met, but he told her he would be back for her in five minutes. He promised to take her on an adventure." She paused to take another sip of her drink, and the silence had Trish twitching. "He was gone for twelve years."

Trish supposed this meant River was human, then. She'd wondered if she was the same species at the Doctor, but apparently not.

"She was a lonely child," River revealed. She dug a nail into the grain of the table, her smile fading at last. "She never really gave up on him, but his departure made her cynical. She convinced herself for the longest time that he was nothing but her imaginary friend. She called him her Raggedy Doctor. When he finally did come back, she was a woman, with a fiance, my father, and a normal human life." The smile returned in full force. "But she still ran off with him, and later brought my father along, too. In the long run, he made her life better. But when I was young, I had outside influences persuading me otherwise. By the time I met him, those...influences...had quite a hold on me."

Trish nodded. "That sounds really difficult. I'm sorry."

"We're all here now, aren't we?" River asked, brightening up further, though the sadness lingered. "It's all ended relatively well, at least for now. I'm happy."

Trish smiled, as much as she could. "I'm glad."

"Now," River said, leaning forward a little. "Let's move on to some more _interesting_ topics, shall we? What about _your_ love life, Trish Walker?"

Trish groaned.

* * *

After nearly a week spent on the TARDIS, Trish was beginning to run out of borrowed clothes, and she wasn't keen on the idea of simply wearing an entirely new outfit everyday. It felt wasteful. The second Rory informed her that there was an entire laundromat hidden somewhere in the depths of the wardrobe room, Trish abandoned the movie she had been half watching with him, Jessica, and Luke, and rushed off to do some much-needed laundry.

Laundry had always been a secret pleasure of hers. She had enough money by now to be able to hire people to do it for her, but she'd always found something relaxing about the steady motions of forming warm clothes, and the hum of the washing machine, and the time it gave her to think. However, her plans were interrupted as she entered the wardrobe with her hamper full of dirty clothes and found Amy and River there, pawing through the many racks of dresses.

"Hey Trish," Amy called over her shoulder. She then plucked a frilly blue number off its rack and turned to display it in Trish's direction. "Do you think this is too much?"

It was blinding in color, and the frills were definitely a distraction, but it certainly wasn't ugly. "Maybe a little too much," Trish hedged. "I'm not a fan of the frills."

"That's high fashion on High-Teven-Eight," River informed them, hands on hips.

"But you have to admit it's a bit crazy for a dinner date," Amy insisted. "And look at these _straps_ , River." She tugged at one of at least twenty. "You'll get yourself all tied up."

"Getting into it, or out?" River smirked. Trish nearly choked as she tried to hold back a laugh.

At the same time, Amy looked scandalized. "I do _not_ want to hear about _any_ of that," she decided. "The less I have to think about the Doctor and sex, the better." River laughed.

Trish decided to leave the laundry for the moment, and set the hamper down to give her arms a break. "Are you and the Doctor going out?"

River turned to her, grinning. "Oh, yes."

"Space restaurant," Amy said, rifling through more dresses. "I still don't know where it is, exactly, but River's excited about it."

"You wouldn't believe it," River said, "it's fabulous. I've heard wonderful things about it. Supposedly, you can see entire galaxies no matter where you sit. And they've got legendary garlic bread."

"Yum," Trish agreed.

Amy picked out another dress, this time golden and sleek, with the faintest shimmer in the skirt. "Ooh," she said. "Look at this, River."

Immediately, River replied, "I'll look like Belle, from Beauty and the Beast."

Amy barked out a laugh. "So the Doctor's the beast, then?"

"Oh, absolutely."

Trish grinned. "What about that one?" She stepped forward, pointing to a pretty red thing that had caught her eye from the start.

"I've got matching lipstick for that," River said, before anything else. She took the fabric in her hands and examined it before taking its hanger off the rack.

"That's stunning," Amy declared. "I vote for that one."

A slow smile spread over River's face. "I do like it," she admitted.

Amy's expression softened. She settled a hand across River's shoulders. "I feel like I'm getting you ready for a first date or something," she said, her voice hushed enough that Trish began to feel like she was intruding.

River kissed Amy's cheek. "Not the first time, is it?"

Amy drew back, her own smile widening despite something painful growing in her eyes. "No. No, you're right."

River cleared her throat, looking back to Trish. "Go start your laundry," she suggested, "then you can come back and help me get ready, hm?"

Trish smiled. "If you want, sure."

"If Jessica wants to come, she can," Amy added. "We can make it an event. Girls' night."

"I'll invite her," Trish said. She couldn't actually recall a time that Jessica had ever really _enjoyed_ events like that, but she had vague recollections of senior prom, and Jessica's nervous laughter as they put on their dresses.

It could be nice.

* * *

Trish didn't realize how much she missed little get-togethers like these until she was in the midst of one. As she laughed at another of River's well-timed jokes, it dawned on her that she hadn't had any real close friends besides Jessica in a long time. And even then, Jessica had fallen off the map for a while because of Kilgrave, and Trish had been mostly on her own for longer than she ever had before.

Maybe she didn't know Amy or River all that well, and she was just beginning to truly repair her friendship with Jessica, but she had the sense that this could be a good thing. For all of them, maybe.

"Okay, stop fussing," River ordered, gently moving Amy's hands away from her face. "You'll smudge my eyeliner if you keep at it."

"Maybe it needs a little smudging," Amy insisted.

"You'll make her look like a raccoon that way," Jessica put in, smirking.

"She was quite fond of that look back in the day," River said, before Amy hurriedly shushed her. Trish giggled.

"Not _raccoon eyes_ ," Amy pressed. "Smokey eye, River! I was a model, I know about things like this."

River scoffed. "I've already gone and married him. I don't need to go too crazy."

Jessica spluttered. "You're married. You have to be kidding."

Another of those wicked smiles spread over River's face. "Oh, we're _very_ married."

Trish barked out a laugh, unable to hide her surprise. She tried to picture the Doctor at a wedding, but her imagination failed her.

"Fine, I'll leave it," Amy relented, stepping back at last. "Turn around, let me zip you up."

"You look great," Trish put in, as River faced them. The dress was slender, but cut rather short, with enough skirt to make it look playful rather than the overdressed look Trish had somewhat expected. River beamed.

Jessica raised her glass, and tapped it against River's.

"We should do this more often," Amy decided. "I know you'll probably be headed home, soon, River, but at least the three of us. Trish, Jessica." She gave each of them a close-mouthed, hopeful smile. Trish replied in kind, a similar look taking over her own face. But Jessica, true to form, took a gulp of wine and nodded noncommittally. Trish didn't miss how Amy's face fell minutely as she looked away to fiddle with River's dress again. Trish wished there was a way to communicate telepathically with her somehow, to tell her that Jessica was just bad at starting relationships, that it wasn't her fault.

But she wasn't about to say anything in front of Jessica, and they were already moving on.

Something tapped on the door, loud enough that Trish winced, and the Doctor's voice boomed, "River Song!"

A glance to the entrance revealed him there, clad in a different coat, a long green thing, but without any other visible changes besides a crimson bow tie that nearly perfectly matched River's dress. He only barely took note of the rest of them, eyes locking on River.

"Hello, sweetie," she replied, eyes lighting up. "You look nice."

Behind the Doctor, Rory stepped into view. "You two are going to be safe, aren't you?"

"Don't worry, no shenanigans," the Doctor promised, ascending the steps. He took River's hands in his and moved close so that their foreheads nearly touched. "You look nice, yourself, Dr. Song."

"You two are disgusting," Jessica declared. Trish saw Rory give her an approving, understanding look.

"Now that we've finished disturbing you, we've got places to be," the Doctor said, pulling back from River to smirk at them. "We've already landed, we need to run if we're going to make our reservation."

"Okay, Raggedy Man, run off," Amy sighed, waving a hand at him to come closer to her, which he did without hesitation. "Don't be out all night, you two." She pressed a swift kiss to his forehead, and then to River's. Rory kissed River's cheek.

 _She called him her Raggedy Doctor,_ Trish remembered River saying about her mother, and a weird suspicion began to tickle at the back of her mind. But no, that was impossible. She watched Amy's young face exchanging a radiant smile with River's older one.

"Night, Ponds," the Doctor called behind him as he and River skipped down the stairs. "Jessica, Trish."

"Night, everyone!" River echoed.

"Goodnight," Trish managed to say, and then they were gone.

Amy caught her eye, and an expectant smile spread over the other woman's face. "Movie night?" she asked.

* * *

As Amy had predicted, River came to breakfast that morning ready to return home, wherever (and whenever) that was for her.

"I'm all packed" was the first thing she said as she relaxed into her chair at the table with a cup of coffee.

"You're going home today?" Luke asked, idly swirling a spoon through his own cup.

"Unfortunately, yes," River sighed. "I try to keep my visits here short, simply on principle."

"Couldn't the Doctor just take you back to the day you left?" Ianto pointed out between mouthfuls of toast.

River's smile turned slightly pained. "Despite his driving issues, I'm sure he could manage it. It's more due to personal reasons than anything else." She kept her gaze aimed at the table as she took a sip of her drink, and Trish felt her heart twinge in sympathy.

She could only guess at what these "personal reasons" were, but she suspected it was due to River and the Doctor's complicated relationship timeline. What River had implied when she'd said _his past is my future, and vice versa_ was not exactly pleasant. Trish imagined there was only so much time that they had together - hence the Doctor's elaborate dinner date, and the way he bowed to River's every whim with nothing more than obligatory protests, and the way they looked at each other.

"Will we see you again?" Trish asked, forcing her mind to more hopeful ideas.

River glanced up at her, warmth in her eyes. "I do hope so. I've had fun with you all, the past few days. It's refreshing, having so many people aboard."

"The Doctor's a bit of a loner, is he?" Jessica smirked.

"Not by choice," River said, after another long sip. She sounded bitter, but she moved on before Trish could speak up about it. "Anyway, I'll try to come visit when you all are here. I can never be sure of when I'll meet the Doctor again. Could be before he brought you all on board, could be long after you're gone." She gave them a knowing grin. "I'll ask him if he's been to New York City recently."

"Mention Hell's Kitchen specifically," Trish put in. "Little bit more exact."

River inclined her head, raising her mug in acknowledgement. "Will do."

At that exact moment, a blur of tweed swept into the room, and headed immediately for the fridge.

"Morning, Doctor," River greeted. She hid her smile in her cup.

"Morning," he said back, though it sounded as if it came automatically, without thought. "I'm starved, me and Jack spent all night trying to fix the microwave oven in kitchen number nine. Or, mostly me, rather, Jack might have fallen asleep on the floor at some point. It was awhile ago." He half-vanished into the refrigerator, pawing through enough items to make Trish's head spin.

"You let my boyfriend fall asleep on the floor," Ianto repeated, nearly horrified.

"I was busy," the Doctor dismissed, not unkindly. "He's fine, up now. Might be a bit sore, but he didn't _die_. Not that that would knock him out for long anyhow."

Ianto pursed his lips, but some of the outrage dissipated.

"I thought you were a 'great host,'" Trish said. She couldn't help but snicker at him as he froze, and then slowly straightened up and turned to glare at her.

"Jack didn't _have_ to stay up," he pointed out. "I told him to go to bed at least once."

Jack himself announced as he entered, "I was _trying_ to have a conversation with you, Doctor. I wasn't sticking around because I love to repair toaster ovens."

The Doctor aimed a pointedly self-satisfied look at Ianto. "See? Not dead. Very much alive, in fact."

"Ta-da," Jack deadpanned. And then, as he stretched out his arms to do jazz hands, he winced. "I'm getting too old to spend the night on the floor," he complained.

"You don't get older," the Doctor shot back, once again buried in the contents of the refrigerator.

"If you two are done," River said, voice dry but nonetheless amused, "I'm looking to head home soon."

The Doctor emerged from the fridge again, this time holding a container of what looked like yogurt, and an expression on his face like that of a hesitant child. "Time's up, then?" he guessed. He kept his eyes firmly on his food as he peeled the lid off and set it on the counter.

River swallowed. "I think now's a good time, yes."

The Doctor dug through a drawer and retrieved a spoon. "I suppose it is. Well, let's all eat, and then Amy and Rory can see you off."

"Thank you," River said, although the look on her face was anything but grateful.

Jessica coughed, and Trish quickly elbowed her. "Hey," Jessica snapped. She then turned her attentions to the Doctor and River, while Trish ducked her head. "Look, you two, can we leave off on a good note? Please?"

River straightened up in her chair, just a little. And despite the previous pain on her face, she smiled. "That's probably a good idea. After all, we might not see each other again. I'd rather spend the next little while we have in a good mood."

"Fair point," the Doctor sighed. "Look at you, Jessica Jones. Telling us to _cheer up_." He huffed a little. "Have we entered into an alternate universe again?"

Jessica made a face at him.

"What shall we do, then?" River prompted. She slapped a hand to the table. "One last trip? Just a nice breakfast?"

"Let's go to Starspot Delta!" the Doctor exclaimed. His eyes lit up as if he'd discovered some sort of treasure. "Ooh, that's a treat, that. Lovely spot. I don't think you've been, River."

"What's Starspot Delta?" Luke inquired.

"Beautiful!" the Doctor proclaimed. "The most beautiful place this side of the universe, in my humble opinion. You can see at least four other galaxies in just the one spot - and we can make it a lazy day, since we don't even have to leave the TARDIS."

"You, having a lazy day?" Jack asked with a smirk.

The Doctor abandoned his yogurt on the counter to cross his arms. "I don't know if you've noticed, Captain Harkness, but we have had _plenty_ of lazy days since you've all been on board. Plenty. Too many. More than I have ever had before."

"Because you're a good host," River put in.

The Doctor pointed at her. "Quite right."

"Thank you so very much for not actively trying to kill us," Jessica snarked. Jack coughed a laugh. The Doctor glared impressively. Trish hid yet another smile in her coffee, which was quickly going cold.

"So," Ianto interrupted. "Starspot Delta?"

They said their goodbyes after the TARDIS had landed in River's home - not tearful ones, but nonetheless sad. River hugged everyone who would allow her, and gave a friendly handshake to those who were a little more trepidacious about physical contact.

They were _friends_ , Trish realized with a jolt. She'd hardly known River for a week, and yet they were well on their way to an enjoyable friendship. As River turned from the Doctor's new passengers to the Ponds, Trish was so wrapped up in her new discovery that she almost missed the words the group of them exchanged.

"Give us a call, won't you?" Amy was saying, a definite pout in her voice.

"I don't have an upgraded phone," River said back, gently, her hands on Amy's upper arms and a sad smile on her face.

"Then we'll call you," Rory decided, leaning a little closer. "We should get the right date, right?" He spun to shoot a stern look at the console, where the Doctor was fussing around with the controls in what Trish assumed was an attempt to give them space. "Doctor?"

Though he'd obviously been listening, the Doctor did a good impression of 'distracted.' "What? Oh, yes, you should be fine. So long as you plug in the right time, you'll get it."

"What's this about an upgraded phone?" Jessica pried, poking the Doctor hard in the shoulder.

"Time and space phone," the Doctor explained, but Trish became distracted by the events at the doorway once more, and tuned him out.

"Okay," River was saying, smiling at Rory now. "You call me." She then wrapped him in a hug. "Be safe, you two," she ordered as she drew back. "Make sure the Doctor stays on track with this 'limited trouble' plan of his."

Amy snickered. "We'll try. But you know how he is."

In response, River rolled her eyes. "Oh, do I."

"You be safe, too," Amy said, as she pressed a hand to River's cheek. "Stay out of trouble, Melody Pond, or...or else."

"Yes, Mum," River said back, though the grin on her face betrayed her true intentions - she wasn't going to listen at all. Amy kissed her forehead.

"You're _joking_ ," Luke blurted. He pushed off of the rail where he'd been leaning. Trish had to agree with him - she could hardly believe her eyes.

The Ponds - all three of them, apparently - turned to look. Rory wore a grimacing sort of smile, while Amy and River had devilish smirks that matched down to the turn of their eyebrows. And suddenly, Trish couldn't help but wonder how in the hell she'd missed it before.

"It's a long, _long_ story," the Doctor interrupted, half-leaping down the stairs to the ground level and almost knocking a surprised Ianto over in the process. "Sorry, Jones. River, let me walk you out."

"How romantic," River said with a dramatic flutter of eyelashes. Rory facepalmed, but Amy only giggled. River accepted the arm the Doctor offered her, and the two of them whispered to one another as they exited the TARDIS. The only impression Trish got before the door closed behind them was darkness, and slime. She felt another of those sympathetic twinges for River, which she quickly smothered. She hadn't known River for long, but she was certain the woman wouldn't want any of her pity, no matter how appropriate it might be.

Rory wrapped an arm around his wife, which she leaned into with a loud sigh. Trish guessed that she'd get an explanation at some point, but for the moment she was left with a spinning head and a dozen questions all fighting to get out at once.

The Doctor returned in only a minute, beaming absurdly. He closed the TARDIS doors behind him and bounded up the stairs.

"You okay, Doc?" Jack asked, patting Ianto's arm before leaving him to head up to the console.

"Fine," the Doctor said. Already, his hands flew over the console. "Why don't we head to New New York, hm?"

Although Jessica had that squint like she was seeing right through him, she still asked, "New New York?"

"Yes! Lovely place. Be nice, yeah, to see your city long after you've all died?"

Trish wrinkled her nose. At the same time, Luke said, "Cheerful."

"That's me," the Doctor muttered, almost inaudible. Louder, he continued, "So, what do we think? They have fantastic ice cream." He finally looked up from the controls with a manic sort of grin, and Trish felt herself giving in, mostly out of sympathy.

"I'm always up for ice cream," she admitted. She smiled at him, as genuine as she could manage. "But you three are going to explain yourselves when we get there."

" _Please_ ," Luke stressed.

"Oh, fine, fine. That's a fair compromise," the Doctor agreed. "So!" He turned a couple of dials. "Geronimo!"

He flipped the lever, and despite the sorrowful goodbye, Trish couldn't stop herself from grinning as she held on for dear life.

* * *

 **Ta-Da! I hope you all enjoyed! Let me know what you're thinking so far, I love hearing from you guys as always. :)**


	4. Jessicas

**Chapter 4: Jessicas**

Amy got the impression, right off, that she and Jessica were rather similar. More so than they were different. Rory didn't entirely believe her when she brought it up - "She seems nice," he'd said, "but you have to admit that she's a lot more cynical than you've ever been" - but Amy saw a likeness of herself on Jessica's face, and she was eager to explore that as they got to know each other.

Unfortunately, Jessica didn't seem to feel at all the same way.

Amy invited her to get River ready for her date, and while Jessica came along willingly enough, she only spoke enough to get a few snarky quips in, and there was been very little of the female bonding Amy had intended. Not that it wasn't fun, but...Amy'd been hoping for something a little more meaningful than the friendly small talk they'd ended up exchanging.

After that failure, Amy made an extra effort of including Jessica in every event on the TARDIS, however minor. When she and Rory started getting hungry in the evenings, one of the first thing she did (after peeking her head into the console room to cajole the Doctor into finishing up whatever he was doing, because god knew if she didn't start bothering him at least an hour before mealtime he wouldn't show up until it was nearly over, and even if he didn't eat it was about being _together_ ) was track down Jessica to personally tell her they were going to start on dinner, and to ask if she had any requests. Jessica would usually say no, and sometimes look confused or suspicious, but Amy took it in stride. She was certain that Jessica would come around eventually.

When they had movie nights, Amy attempted to start conversations about different films, which were met with enthusiasm from Luke and Jack, but much less so from Jessica, who just seemed to tune them out and do her own thing. Amy tried to include her, but Jessica only seemed puzzled by her efforts, and Amy usually gave up after too long a time with only minimal response.

Any opportunity she got, Amy would try to make a comment that would be some kind of conversation starter. Normally, this would only result in Jessica glancing up at her, smiling politely, and replying in a fashion that showed she was only minorly interested.

Finally, Amy changed tactics, and tried asking personal questions instead. Nothing too invasive - they were just getting to know each other, after all. Reasonable questions, one any pair of new friends might ask one another. She asked how Jessica and Luke had met, which only got her a startled look and a shifty, "mutual misfortune," as an answer. Amy knew well enough to drop it, but it felt lousy. She asked about Jessica's parents, her siblings, which only ended in more caught-off-guard expressions and awkward silences and even more awkward one-word responses.

One morning, she found herself alone with Trish in the library. Trish seemed open enough to friendship, so Amy had been chatting with her pretty regularly since River's date night. But rarely had they found themselves alone - usually Jessica was there, or the Doctor, or Rory. Despite the fact that Trish seemed to be absorbed in her book, Amy thought this would be the perfect time to pose some important questions.

"Trish," she said. And then she repeated herself, until Trish finally looked up from her book and frowned. "Sorry, I don't want to interrupt, it's just...does Jessica not like me, or something?"

Immediately, Trish softened, and dog-eared the page she was on so that she could set the book down. "No, I think she likes you well enough."

Well, that was somewhat of a relief. "Oh. She doesn't...no offense, I know you're her best friend. But she doesn't act like it."

Trish sighed. "Jessica's a closed-off person at the best of times. It's the way she's always been, but especially the past few years." Kind of like the Doctor, Amy thought. She said as much to Trish, which earned her a thoughtful nod. "Yeah, he's not exactly open himself. Look, the best way to get to know Jessica is to let her approach you. It's harder that way, and it takes time, but you might freak her out if you chase after her."

Which is exactly what Amy had been doing. But then again, she'd never had anyone _not_ want to befriend her. She of course had her flaws, and she wasn't the perfect friend, but she tried, and where it counted she was a good confidant, and listener, and advisor. And more than anything else, she was a friendly person. And, not to toot her own horn, she was _interesting_. It was part of the reason the Doctor had invited her along with him - he'd essentially said as much.

That made her sound rather self-centered, even in her own mind. But it wasn't untrue.

"Okay," Amy said. It had been long enough since she'd spoken that Trish had begun to pick up her book again. "Thanks for the advice. I just think we're a lot alike, you know?"

Trish smiled. "I think so, too. Give Jessica a chance. She needs more people in her life, even if she won't admit it. Don't tell her I said that."

Amy offered a wry smile back. "I won't."

It felt good to have a friend.

* * *

Amy attempted Trish's recommended method - she wasn't unfriendly to Jessica, but she tried backing off. It was more difficult than it sounded.

For one, Amy had gotten used to instigating conversation. And, evidently, Jessica had gotten used to it as well. When they were together, in the TARDIS or on some quiet adventure, things fell incredibly silent between them. And soon Jessica would start shooting squinty-eyed glances at Amy, obviously expecting some kind of assault of conversation. It took all of Amy's willpower not to give in. Even Rory started questioning her, when they were alone, asking her if she was alright.

 _Am I really that talkative?_ she started to wonder, with some trepidation. Though maybe that was another reason the Doctor liked to have her around - with her, someone else was there to chatter back at him. God knew Rory wasn't about to do it; he was far more shy than Amy had ever been, even with the Doctor. And he tended to get a bit overwhelmed when the Doctor started techno-babbling at him.

Things came to a head one sleepy afternoon in the TARDIS. Amy entered the library with a few books she'd swiped the day before (none of which were particularly interesting, to her displeasure), and found Jessica dozing on one of the couches there. It looked like maybe Luke had been around before, since his favorite leather jacket was lying on the coffee table, but for the moment Jessica was alone.

Maybe it was a harsh move to wake her up, but Amy was getting _very_ fed up with waiting around. She'd done enough waiting already in her lifetime. She was patient, certainly, but she was tired of being patient. She'd learned, over the past few years, that while waiting usually worked eventually, sometimes you had to take action.

She dropped her books on the coffee table, more loudly that intended, and winced as Jessica jolted up with wild eyes.

"Sorry," Amy said, quickly. "Look, Jessica, let's do something."

Jessica actually backed away from her, scooting back on the couch to rest against the arm farthest from Amy, eyeing her suspiciously. That wild look hadn't yet faded from her eyes. "What?" she asked, more harshly than Amy would have liked.

"I want to be friends," Amy blurted, and then immediately she smacked a hand over her face. "Ugh," she muttered. She forced her hand to drop, and then made herself smile, as friendly as possible. "I think we're a lot alike, and honestly, I need more friends. Trish said she thought you could use more, too." She hadn't meant to say that. Jessica's suspicion turned to an outright glare.

"Trish," she grumbled. Slowly, she began to relax, however, and Amy let her own shoulders loosen. Jessica sat up a little more.

"Let's do something," Amy repeated. "Some...girl time. Female bonding. Whatever you want to call it. Trish can come, too, if that's better."

Jessica's face twisted. "I'm not good at making friends."

Amy fought back a wince, and smothered her growing disappointment with effort. "Well, I am. Let's just talk. It doesn't have to be anything crazy. We can talk about our parents, or Luke and Rory, or our favorite drinks, or _something_."

Jessica's mouth turned slightly up, but it was not a hopeful expression. Amy's heart pounded.

"Or how we met the Doctor," Amy offered. "I don't know anything about that, and that's always an interesting story." She attempted a bigger smile.

If there had been any chance that Jessica was about to open up, it immediately vanished, and she visibly shut down. Her eyes lowered. "I'd rather not," she said, and her voice was biting.

Amy clenched a fist. The first hints of anger burned in her gut. But not really at Jessica. She didn't know why Jessica didn't want to talk, but from what Trish had implied she had good reason. No, she was more upset with the Doctor. He was supposed to tell her these things now. They'd made an _talking agreement_ , for God's sake. He was supposed to tell her _something_. Anything.

Without another word, Amy stood and left the room, headed straight for the console room.

Poor Rory intercepted her in the hall, with a content smile on his face that faded the moment he saw the murderous expression on her face. "Amy?" he asked, nothing but concern.

"Where's the Doctor?" Amy demanded. Rory grimaced, probably already feeling bad for the Time Lord who was most certainly about to get sworn at.

"The pantry, I think," Rory stammered. "Um, Amy-"

"Sorry, Rory, not now," she called behind her, already off again to wind through the TARDIS' labyrinth halls. To the ceiling, she said, "You'd better not hide him from me. You know as well as I do that he deserves what's coming to him."

Although the TARDIS' hum was displeased, it didn't sound entirely disapproving. Amy felt more than heard something shift off to her right, and she turned to find the distinctive pantry door just ahead, a plain brown against the TARDIS' silver walls. It opened before she'd even touched it.

"Doctor!" she yelled.

"Amelia Pond!" he called back, much too cheerfully. It only made her growing rage boil. He stood on a ladder, nearly high enough to bash his head on the tall ceiling, evidently searching for something in the explosion that was the pantry.

"Don't you 'Amelia Pond' me," she snapped. His face fell. He paused in the middle of his search to stare at her like she'd grown a second head.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice a cocktail of meekness and offense.

Amy tried to find a concise way to describe the problem, but could only come up with an exasperated, "You're driving me absolutely mad, Doctor!"

He moved down one rung, as if he might come down to her level, and then apparently thought better of it. Instead, he leaned against the nearest shelf and continued to peer down at her. "Sorry?" he said.

"You're still keeping things from me," she elaborated, with an accusing finger pointed at him now.

She must have sounded slightly less furious, because he hesitantly began to descend once more. "Like what?" he asked, moments before he leaped to the floor.

Once she had determined that he was still in one piece, Amy went in on him again. "Jessica. How did you meet her? And Luke, and Trish."

He paused. His gaze flew around the room, evidently searching for some kind of distraction.

"Doctor," she said. "Tell. Me."

"It's not really my place," he hedged, pulling at his bowtie. "It involves quite a bit of backstory which is...not mine to tell."

"Then just tell me what you can _without_ the backstory," Amy insisted, crossing her arms. "And tell me why you felt the need to keep it from me. And don't think I haven't noticed you hiding things from Jessica and Luke and Trish, too." She stepped into the pantry further, and closed the door behind her. In something of a whisper, she finished, "You still haven't told them about Gallifrey."

The nervousness on his face turned to bitterness, potent enough that Amy almost felt bad for bringing it up. But no, she wasn't going to let him guilt-trip her into dropping this. It was _important_.

"I didn't tell you," he said, after a moment of pondering, "because I'm trying to leave it in the past. It's better to forget it happened at all." He started to lift a hand to scratch at his neck before making a sort of flinching movement and quickly pinning the offending limb back down to his side.

"I have to disagree, since despite your efforts it's clearly still affecting everyone to this day." Amy took a step forward to poke the Doctor in the chest. "I know you're allergic to feelings, but sometimes it does some good to have a real discussion about them. It stops people from getting hurt even more than they already are."

The Doctor sat on an abandoned stool, with a heavy sigh. "I'm not allergic to feelings," he pouted.

Amy snorted, but, sensing his discomfort, mercifully decided to move on. "Look, just tell me what you feel comfortable sharing, okay?" She took an uncomfortable seat on one of the rungs of the ladder, keeping her balance by leaning against the rung above it and placing her feet firmly on the floor. "And tell me why you haven't told them about Gallifrey. Please Doctor." She gave him her best puppy-dog face.

"My past is on a need-to-know basis," he said, more to his hands than to her.

"You don't have to tell them," Amy replied, more gently, "but it might save you some pain in the future. I've heard them asking to visit your home planet more than once. One, you won't be able to distract them forever, and two, they'll stop asking if you just tell them."

He kicked at a fallen bag of crisps on the floor with muted frustration. "I don't want to talk about it," he admitted. "Ever, actually."

Amy sighed. She propped her chin up on her hand and gave her Raggedy Doctor a once-over. His hair was a bit rumpled, and his shirt a bit wrinkled, but if there were any other signs of some impending mental breakdown she couldn't find them.

"You're giving me a look," he informed her, rather suspiciously. "Why are you giving me a look?"

"I just worry about you," she admitted. He looked touched, for a moment, before his pride caught up to him and he began to scowl. "Doctor, just tell me what happened," she redirected. "Forget the Gallifrey thing for now, we can talk about that later. Just...tell me about Jessica. The parts that you can share."

He inhaled slowly, and then exhaled in a harsh sigh. "Fine, fine. There isn't too much to tell, really. It was a long time ago for me. My last body."

"Pinstripes," Amy remembered. She'd seen pictures of a couple of his previous bodies before, though it had been quite awhile.

He gave her a tiny smile. "Yes. Pinstripes. Well, he looked rather like - or, exactly like, really - someone she was not fond of. 'Not fond of' might be a bit mild, actually. She hated him. For good reason. So she sort of assumed I was him, and thought I might hurt other people if she let me alone. So she might have kept me trapped in her apartment for about a month."

Amy swallowed. " _Doctor_."

"I let her," he said, immediately. "I could have escaped, really, if I'd wanted to. But I wanted to help her, you know, and I was kind of wondering if I might be this bloke she knew. That I might _become_ him, you see, because we really did look _exactly_ alike. Down to the freckles." He reached behind him to pick up a box of something or other, and glanced at the packaging before offering it to her. "Biscuit?"

Dazed, Amy accepted, and tore the bag inside open with perhaps more force than was appropriate. "Continue," she said, around a mouthful of crumbs.

"He was a bad man, Amelia," the Doctor murmured. "And if we're being honest, I was in a vulnerable place. Er, emotionally. I had good reason to suspect that I was on my way to becoming someone like him, if not him directly." He stole a biscuit from her, and took a cautious bite. "And I kind of left on a bad note with the lot of them. I was still convinced that I was going to become him, and...you understand paradoxes to a good extent, don't you, Amy?"

Hesitantly, she nodded.

"Well, if he was me, and he'd already done it, and then I ran into the consequences of what he-me did, I couldn't _actually_ avoid it, could I?" He kicked at the crisps again, more softly. "That's a paradox. If I would have fought becoming him, I could have torn apart the universe. I spent all my time there avoiding that realization, as it wasn't a pleasant one. But the thing was that I had just come from a certain adventure where I reached the same conclusion - I had to stop meddling with Time, even if it was incredibly unpleasant. I don't think I explained that to Jessica, or...any of them. So, actually, they might still be a bit upset by that." He seemed to ponder this for a moment, mouth twisting unhappily.

"What did he do?" Amy asked.

He didn't look at her. "That's what I can't tell you. It wouldn't be right, for me to talk about it. I wasn't even there, so I couldn't even give you an accurate story. And, you know, it was a long time ago. I have a fantastic memory, of course, but I'm not _perfect_."

Amy nudged him with her shoe. "Of course not."

He then made a face. "These biscuits aren't too good, are they?"

"Not amazing," Amy agreed. She closed the box and set it aside.

"Don't get angry with Jessica," he said. He spared her a short glance, one filled with pleading and a sadness lurking around the edges. "I stayed of my own free will, really. I could have ended it all the first day, if I'd just told her I had two hearts." He smiled wryly, but his eyes weren't in it. Despite his claims that it had been a long time for him, Amy knew that he wasn't over it. The Doctor, although he would never admit it, rarely got over anything. Mostly because he refused to talk about anything that upset him for any lengthy period of time.

And although Amy was determined to try and help, it was depressingly unlikely that she would be able to make any real progress. But she would still try. She was his best friend, after all.

"Why didn't you?" she asked.

He took another deep breath, and the exhale came with the tiniest of wavers. "I'm a coward, Amelia." He held up a hand before she could form a protest. "Don't argue, I know it's true. If I had told Jessica that I had two hearts, what if she had told me that this man did, too?" He looked up again, and his eyes were darker than she'd seen them in a long time. "I was terrified that she would say that to me, and I wasn't prepared to face that possibility. So I didn't say anything. Speculating and slowly driving myself crazy was easier than addressing the problem directly, at least for a while. And by the time it became more difficult, it had already gone on too long for me to simply mention that I wasn't human." He sighed, again. "Of course, she could have just as easily told me that he was completely human. But that wouldn't necessarily have meant much, either. Time Lords can become human. I might have told you about the chameleon arch. It would have lifted some responsibility from my shoulders, if that had been the case, but…"

"But you aren't him," Amy deduced. "Are you?"

He smiled, very hesitantly. "No. Thankfully, no."

She hadn't really thought that he was - she couldn't believe that the Doctor would ever do anything so bad that he couldn't tell her about it. But nonetheless, something loosened in her chest. She reached out and squeezed his arm. "When did this happen for Jessica?"

"I went to pick her up the day after old-me left," he said. "So, er. It's a bit fresh for them."

"A bit," Amy agreed. "Are you okay?"

"King of Okay, remember?" he said. He smiled again, a little more genuinely. "But thank you, Amelia Pond. For asking."

"Thank you for telling me what you could," she said back. "Hug?"

The smile widened. "How could I turn down an Amelia hug?"

She still missed him, she realized, as they wrapped themselves up in each others' arms. Or, really, how things used to be. Before she was a 'real adult,' with a house and a job and responsibilities. Because, despite everything, she would have to head home soon, at least for a little bit. And already, though she was still here, she missed him like he'd been gone for years.

"Why suddenly so curious?" he asked, as they pulled apart.

"I'm trying to be Jessica's friend," Amy told him with a self-conscious grin. "She didn't want to talk about how she met you. I got fed up with not knowing."

"Oh, Amelia Pond," he tsked. "You don't back down, do you?"

"Oi," she said, "I'm trying to be a good friend. If she doesn't want to talk about it, she doesn't have to. But I at least deserve to know _something_ from you, don't I?"

He kissed her forehead, all cold and alien and gentle. "Of course you do. I suppose I should have told you right off."

"That's right," Amy scolded. "So now you know, Mister." She poked him in the chest again. "I'm going to go talk to Jessica - I'm not going to be pushy," she added, at the look on his face, "I'm just going to go tell her that if she wants to talk, I'll be around."

He squeezed her hand. "You are a good friend. No trying about it."

She couldn't deny that it warmed her heart to hear that. "Thank you, Doctor."

"If anyone can help Jessica Jones open up, it's you," he said. "Run along, Pond."

Run along she did.

* * *

Amy spent the next day trying to figure out what to say to Jessica when she finally got the chance. She didn't want to be invasive or make Jessica feel as if she was prying for information, but she didn't want to come off too ambivalent about the whole thing, either. There was a fine line there, and she had to do a good job of walking it if she wanted to have any hope of things ending well.

She came up with a good outline of what to say, but it all flew out the window when _Jessica_ approached _her_ in the kitchen just before bed the next night. Rory had long since gone to get ready, and the others had wandered on back to their own quarters shortly after. Even Jessica had left, with Luke and Trish joining her, leaving Amy to sip at her rapidly-cooling tea and turn over more words in her head.

Someone knocked on the counter, and Amy blinked out of her thoughtful daze to see Jessica hovering in the doorway like the human personification of uncertainty.

"Oh," Amy said. Then, quickly, she amended, "hey, Jessica. What's up?"

Jessica looked like she might abandon this, whatever this was, but she instead straightened her spine and said, "I'm sorry for snapping at you yesterday."

"Don't be," Amy assured her. She attempted a casual drink of her tea, but it was much colder now, and her efforts ended in her making a face and pushing the mug aside with embarrassment. "Er, it's okay. You have the right to keep things to yourself if you want. But, full disclosure, I did talk to the Doctor about it. How you met, I mean."

Jessica tensed a little. "What did he tell you?"

"Not really any details," Amy admitted. "The bare-bones account of what happened. A lot of it wasn't his to tell, according to him."

Jessica then visibly relaxed. "Oh. Uh, good."

"He sort of said he left off on a bad note with you, too," Amy added, as the thought occurred to her. She'd seen the awkward way Jessica treaded around the Doctor, and until now hadn't understood it. But maybe she could help make things right. "Um. On his behalf, I'm sorry." She shrugged helplessly. "His reasoning involved a lot of Time Lord talk. Paradoxes and destroying the universe and...he did say he was sorry."

Jessica sighed. "I guess...I sort of figured some of that out on my own. If he was Kilgrave, and he was a time traveller, and if he...came back to see the consequences of his actions, he probably couldn't...undo that. At that point." At Amy's impressed look, Jessica said, "I watched some sci-fi movies growing up." She then scowled a little bit. "Doesn't mean it wasn't still shitty, though. He's kind of an asshole."

Amy couldn't help but smile. "Sometimes. Maybe you should still talk to him about it, though. Clear the air."

"...Maybe. Yeah. Probably." Jessica didn't seem too pleased about it, though. "At least I have confirmation that my crazy-ass theory was close to right."

Amy nodded. "Um. Just to clear the air between _us._ You still don't have to tell me anything," Amy told her. "About what happened. Really. Don't feel pressured. You don't owe me anything. If you ever do want to talk, I'm here, but I don't want you to feel like you have to."

"I don't do anything I don't want to do," Jessica said, edging toward iciness.

Amy only smiled. "Good. Me neither." She stirred her cold tea for a second. "I'm a Jessica, too, actually. Kind of. My middle name's Jessica. Don't know if I mentioned that. Amelia Jessica Pond. Or, it's Williams now."

Jessica leaned on the counter, her frown turning curious. "Williams?"

"The Doctor calls us the Ponds, because he likes that better," Amy confided with a smirk, "but it's my maiden name. When I married Rory I became Amy Williams. Or, to the Doctor's eyes, Rory became Rory Pond."

The faintest of smiles twitched at Jessica's lips, and she huffed out the shortest of laughs. "I guess Pond is more interesting."

"That's what he says," Amy laughed. "Do you want anything to drink?"

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "Like what?"

"We've got wine," Amy offered.

"Sure," Jessica said. As Amy got up to find a bottle in the refrigerator, the other woman perched on one of the chairs around the table, her feet drawn up to lie on the seat as well. "You're a real wine girl, aren't you?" Jessica asked.

Amy pulled out the bottle. It was already half-finished, but it would do. "Yeah," she admitted, "I guess I am." She pulled a couple glasses out of the glass cupboard, and poured them each a generous serving. "I take it you aren't?" She set the glasses on the table and reclaimed her seat.

"More of a whiskey person," Jessica said. Still, that didn't stop her from taking a gulp of the wine and nodding approvingly.

"Don't tell him I told you, but the Doctor has a _huge_ alcohol collection," Amy confided in a stage-whisper. "If you like hard liquor, I think it's mostly that. I've never been in there, myself."

This earned her another eyebrow-raise, this one far more speculative. "I thought he hated alcohol."

"He does," Amy said, "but that doesn't always stop him." She laughed. "And anyway, he didn't always hate it. From what I've heard, his last regeneration was quite fond of banana daiquiris."

Jessica huffed another small laugh. "I'll keep that in mind."

It felt like the beginning of something, but Amy kept her hope down to a reasonable level. "Thanks for coming to talk to me."

Jessica looked down into her glass before taking another sip. "Don't you dare tell Trish I said this, but she was right. About me needing more friends or whatever."

Amy hid a smile in her glass. "I think we all need more friends," she said after she took a drink. "It never hurts to make more, no matter how many you have."

Jessica shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

They sat quietly. Amy swirled the wine in her glass. Jessica didn't bother with any such time-wasters, and was nearly done with her drink by the time she spoke up again.

"So, Jessica and Jessica," she said.

"Kind of Jessica," Amy amended. But she grinned.

"I don't think I've met another Jessica before," Jessica mused. Despite the awkward lilt to her voice, Amy was warmed by the effort. "It's a pretty common name, so I don't know why I haven't. Not even a middle-name Jessica." She smiled, just a little.

"I guess it was just meant to be," Amy teased.

The smile on Jessica's face grew, just fractionally. "I guess maybe it was."

* * *

 **Aw, yay. I loved writing the interactions between Jessica and Amy here. I think they make an interesting pair. But let me know what you guys think of it, as usual! I hope you all are having a good week!**


	5. No Forever

**Chapter 5: No Forever**

Ianto had never been jealous of the Doctor.

No, really.

He'd been a little uncertain of Jack and the Doctor's relationship, when Jack had first begun to be truthful with him, but with time, learning more and more, that uncertainty had faded. Ianto was now entirely confident that Jack was committed to their relationship, time-travelling aliens or no.

It helped that Jack, once he'd decided to start telling the truth, had been nothing but brutally honest about he and the Doctor's past, as much as he could be.

Ianto had been assured from the start that nothing serious had ever happened between them. The most they'd done, according to Jack, was have a drunken make-out session, which had apparently happened so long ago that Jack thought it pretty likely the Doctor had cast it out of his mind entirely.

Jack did divulge that things might have gone farther, since they had, in fact, liked each other quite a bit, if not for two very important factors. The first was that Jack had, quite literally, passed out on top of the Doctor halfway through, promptly ending any blooming romance.

The second was that the Doctor had been, at the time, incredibly invested in someone else. And while Jack did not keep it a secret that he was open to all _types_ of relationships, the Doctor hadn't been, and the girl he was chasing after hadn't been terribly keen, either, although she'd liked Jack well enough.

So, even though Ianto had never been the jealous type, necessarily, any potential issues had been put to bed by this knowledge.

That was, until he'd started to learn a few more things about the Doctor, things Jack hadn't mentioned. And until he'd started to see the two of them interact more and more.

It started when Amy and Rory left; a rather casual goodbye, apparently only necessary because they had "real lives" to attend to on the side. They promised to be back soon. Ianto, who had begun to find that he and Rory got on rather well, was disappointed to see them go, but their departure also meant that the TARDIS' halls were a little quieter, something he had to admit that he enjoyed. And with Amy gone, there was one less person cajoling the Doctor into going on potentially dangerous adventures, meaning they ended up just a little bit safer at the end of the day.

However, it also meant that the Doctor's only close friend around was Jack.

The day after Amy and Rory left, the Doctor popped his head into the kitchen at lunchtime, calling for Jack.

Ianto looked on, amused, as Jack spoke around his mouthful of bread and turkey. "What?"

"Help me," the Doctor commanded, and then disappeared as quickly as he'd come, and with just as little explanation.

Ianto almost expected some kind of argument or complaint, but Jack simply shook his head, smiling, and finished off his sandwich. "I'll be back," he assured, pecking absently at Ianto's cheek on his way out the door.

"Wonder what that's about," Trish said. She leaned her head on her hand thoughtfully, peering at the door as if it might give her an answer.

"God knows," Jessica mumbled, voice muffled inside that day's third cup of coffee. "Probably something ridiculous." Luke smirked into his own mug.

"Remember the toaster oven?" Trish asked, as if they could forget.

"Do I," Ianto said. Trish laughed at him. He liked Trish. She was nice and personable, but not fake. He was pretty sure that she was a celebrity of some kind, but he couldn't place her face, and it hardly mattered at this point, anyway. Jessica was more rough around the edges, but she'd never treated either Ianto or Jack unkindly, so he had nothing against her. Luke was more of the strong and silent type, but he'd made some sarcastic comments hilarious enough to make even Jack balk in disbelief.

They all got on quite well, all things considered.

This turned out to be extremely fortunate, as Ianto lost track of Jack for a good three hours. When he finally decided it had been far too long, and he was starting to get worried, he found the two of them half-buried in dust-covered artifacts in some long-forgotten broom cupboard of a room.

Ianto hovered in the doorway as the two others, with their backs to him, tossed something back and forth as if it might explode in their hands. "Jack," he said, finally.

The Doctor flung the thing at him in something of a wild startle, and it was only by sheer luck that Ianto managed to catch it. "Ianto!" he called, sounding surprised but not upset by the new addition to...whatever this was. "What's going on?"

"I just came to find Jack," Ianto said, trying to make himself sound far less relieved and annoyed than he was. He handed the object - large, dark, and square, but unexpectedly light - back to the Doctor. "You've been gone for awhile."

Jack looked appropriately guilty, but the Doctor had no such remorse. "We got a bit sidetracked," the Doctor admitted. "Look at this place!" He picked something else off of the floor - this one spherical, looking to be covered in glitter.

"Looks like a broom closet," Ianto said.

"Apparently this is a bunch of stuff the Doctor was supposed to sort through about four hundred years ago," Jack snickered.

"Or seven hundred," the Doctor muttered. He tapped on the sphere, and a hole opened up in it, large and black. Unperturbed, the Doctor reached an arm in, up to the elbow, far deeper than he should have been able to fit.

"They're Time Lord storage bins," Jack explained to Ianto, with a wry smile. "We'll be here all week, at this rate."

Ianto nodded, but his heart wasn't in it.

Jack had talked about the Doctor quite a bit. He'd mentioned he was from an ancient race, that he was pretty long-lived, that he was knowledgeable and powerful, and, despite all appearances, could come up with some impressive bits of wisdom when the situation called for it.

Maybe Ianto had known that the Doctor was basically immortal, but it hadn't...registered. Not like the Doctor mentioning seven hundred years like it was five made it register.

The Doctor produced an entire comforter from the container, like a magician pulling a stream of ribbon out of his mouth. Hand-over-hand, until the entire thing in its blue-striped glory was spread over the closet and spilling into the hallway. The Doctor then peered inside the sphere again, and hummed. "I think there's an entire bed-set in there," he said. "Interesting."

"Including the frame?" Jack wondered, already leaning in to look for himself.

Ianto shook his head, searching for something to say that wouldn't give away his thoughts. "So this is going to take awhile?" he guessed.

"Hopefully," the Doctor said. "Not to be rude, but you people are _boring_."

"There's nothing wrong with being safe," Jack countered. "And you know just as well as I do that you don't have the best track record for keeping your companions out of trouble."

The Doctor mumbled a bitter agreement, ducking his head back into the sphere. "I think I'd be able to crawl in here," he announced. His voice _echoed_. He popped back up, pointing at Jack with a cartoonish sort of scowl. "And you can't lock living things in these, so don't even try."

Jack raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. No pranks." He turned one of his blinding grins at Ianto. "Would've been a good one, though."

Although Ianto's mind still churned, he could still manage a responding smile. One he thought was pretty genuine. A Jack-smile could do that to you.

The Doctor crawled inside the sphere, and could be heard clamoring around inside it for several minutes. Ianto could do little else but stare at the impossible object, which was now perched precariously atop the mountain of similar containers and a few stray knick-knacks. Not long after, he emerged, rumpled but grinning. "All safe!" he declared. "Let's dump 'er."

"You're just going to dump it out?" Ianto questioned. "How much is in there?"

"Oh, a _lot_ ," the Doctor stressed. "You might want to step back. Actually, probably be best to move this to hall, so as to avoid…" he trailed off, eyeing them each critically. "Er, injury."

"There _is_ a bed frame in there," Jack deduced, all too proud. "Isn't there?"

"Maybe. _Move_." Jack stood up and staggered out to join Ianto in the hall. The Doctor joined them shortly, cradling the sphere in one arm and attempting to keep his balance on the pile of junk with the other. When he made it out, he turned his back to them, and upended the sphere.

And a flood of objects tumbled out. Including, as predicted, a bed frame.

Within moments, their part of the hall looked much like the little broom closet - piles and piles of nonsense. Knick-knacks and gadgets and alien contraptions Ianto was immediately nervous to even look at, let alone let touch him.

The Doctor gave the sphere a final shake, then tossed it aside. "Well, would you look at that?" he said. "It's not nearly so much when it's all out in the open here."

They were up to their calves in junk.

"Jesus, Doc," Jack said. But he was grinning. "This is going to take _forever_. Should we get the others to come help?"

The Doctor bent down, picking up a small object that looked like a pinwheel. It had a slim metal base with a metal stick coming up out of it, a little flashy arm attached to the top of the stick. As if he was afraid he might break it, he spun the arm. It made a soft whirring sound, almost musical, and the tiny lights along it flashed. He looked...sad.

"Best not," he said, after a moment of expectant silence. "Lots of Time Lord-y things here." Surreptitiously, he tucked the object into his jacket pocket. He bent down again, picking through things, his face conveniently obscured. "They don't know about Gallifrey," he confessed. "It might be a tad...uncomfortable."

The Doctor's home planet, right. Ianto knew it had been destroyed, in some war. Jack hadn't given him the details. All he knew was that the Doctor had a fair bit of survivor's guilt over it. And, so it seemed, didn't want to talk about it.

"That makes sense," Jack agreed. The Doctor couldn't see it, as his back was still turned, but Ianto could tell by the expression on Jack's face that he felt bad for even bringing it up, though he couldn't have known. "We can help at least, though, can't we?"

The Doctor shrugged. "If you want." He spun without warning, and tossed what looked like a bouncy ball in their direction. Jack snatched it out of the air right before it hit Ianto in the face.

"Almost got you," the Doctor grinned. It was such a sudden change in mood that it made Ianto nervous, but Jack took it in stride. "Come on then, you two. Start sorting. Er, sorting the things you recognize, anyway. Random junk in one pile, actual useful things in another. I can go through them more later."

They spent the rest of the day going through that pile alone. By the end of it Ianto was exhausted, and though the rest of the night passed peacefully and without incident, he was unable to shake his earlier realization from his mind.

* * *

The next shake to Ianto's confidence came the next day, while they once again sorted through the Doctor's forgotten junk.

They'd moved to an unused bedroom instead of the hall, as Ianto had suggested they _not_ take up the walkway with their little project. Or rather, the Doctor's project that he and Jack had somehow ended up roped into. This meant that things were much more crowded, but there were also a few more comfortable places to sit while sorting. So Ianto sat on the bed with a pile of things he'd grabbed from the main collection of junk. Jack sat beside him with his own pile. The Doctor, meanwhile, was half-buried in things on the floor.

"Look at this," Jack suddenly exclaimed. He held up a disc for them all to see - shiny, silver, and the thickness of a CD. "I haven't seen one of these since that trip to Era-Ten!"

"The one where you almost got us blown up?" the Doctor remarked. "I remember."

Ianto laughed. "What did you do, Jack? Flirt with the wrong person?"

The Doctor pointed at Ianto. "Exactly. He thought it would be a _great_ idea to have a chat with the princess, who just so happened to be looking for a husband at the time."

"It was a perfectly innocent conversation," Jack defended. He set the disc down on the nightstand in order to haughtily cross his arms.

"Sure," the Doctor said, sounding anything but convinced. "Anyway, then Jack _kissed_ me, right in front of her. I don't remember why. And she was not pleased."

Ianto's heart skipped a beat in shock (and maybe a little bit of annoyance), but he shrugged it off. It had been a long time ago, after all. "Well, I can imagine not."

"You have a bad habit of doing that," the Doctor continued, facing Jack again.

"What?" Jack asked, indignantly. "Being friendly?"

"Kissing me," the Doctor corrected. "It happened far too often. I think even Rose started to get a little concerned."

"It was the leather jacket," Jack said, decisive but smiling. "What can I say, I'm a simple man."

Ianto found that his eyes wouldn't move from his hands. He grabbed blindly for another object, for some sort of distraction. Jack and the Doctor continued bantering, oblivious to Ianto's pounding heart and sweaty hands and tight chest.

He forced himself to let it go, and laughed at the next of the Doctor's jokes. He managed to convince even himself that it had just been a moment of weakness. Things were fine. He was fine.

* * *

Despite his very convincing mantra of "it's not a big deal," Ianto found that he couldn't stop noticing how the Doctor and Jack interacted. How they moved around each other without even seeming to think about it. How they brought up adventure after adventure after adventure, story after story after story, without so much as a hesitation to recall the details.

Jack had said that their past had been just that - the past. A long, long time ago if his phrasing had been anything to go by. But the way they acted, it didn't seem long ago at all. The stories they told and retold seemed weeks old instead of years. The inside jokes seemed to have been made the day prior, although Ianto knew they might have been older than he was.

He wanted to be happy for Jack, that he had a close friend, but he found that he couldn't do it. It drove a poisonous fear into his heart every time Jack laughed at the Doctor's bad jokes. Although Ianto laughed along, too, he could hear his own amusement becoming increasingly hollow.

He couldn't stop imagining Jack after his death - something he'd pictured before, but before now Jack had always been alone. In these new versions, the Doctor was always there, too. Jack was hurting, and the Doctor was there, and Ianto was not. The Doctor, with their shared stories and jokes, and with a life that would continue on far after Ianto's had ended.

Ianto supposed it wouldn't matter to him once he was dead, but it hurt all the same. Jack would move on, and the Doctor would be waiting. No matter what the two of them said about being strictly platonic, they kept _flirting_. And they had a past together. The Doctor had River, but Jack had told Ianto a bit about that, too. It would last for a long time, but not forever. And if time caught both Jack and the Doctor in the right moment...Ianto hated to think that he might be so easily forgotten.

Maybe that was stupid. He was being ridiculous. He knew Jack loved him, and Jack wasn't an asshole who would immediately discard Ianto and their relationship like a torn shirt or something. But he didn't want to think about Jack with other people, no matter how selfish that might be of him.

Despite his growing worry, Ianto was determined to get over this problem of his by himself. He wasn't going to bother Jack with it, and he'd rather the Doctor not know at all. He internalized, as he'd done with many of his problems over the years, and kept up the act as they continued to sort through the Doctor's junk. Kept it up even as he continued to be assailed by story after story, joke after joke.

Good thing he was an expert at keeping a straight face.

However, what he didn't count on was Jack's equal experience at seeing right through him. So as the third day of sorting came to a close, Jack cornered him in the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" Ianto asked, as Jack pushed him inside and shut the door behind them. Jack crossed his arms, and then leaned against the door to provide an extra barrier. "Jack?"

"Something's wrong," Jack accused. He looked more angry than concerned, though worry lurked in his eyes. "You're acting weird."

"What do you mean?" Maybe Ianto should have known better than to try and deceive him, but he pressed on. He mirrored his boyfriend, arms crossed over his chest, head held high and defiant.

"You keep getting this look on your face." Jack softened, just slightly. "I'm worried, Ianto. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Ianto said. "I'm fine. Personal things." Immediately, he cursed himself.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "I thought nothing was wrong."

"It's fine," Ianto grit out.

"You can talk to me, you know," Jack pressed. "I thought we got over this hurdle already. I can talk to you about anything, and you can talk to me."

"It's not a big deal," Ianto insisted. He hoped Jack couldn't hear the tightness in his voice. "Go back and help the Doctor."

There must have been some detectable bitterness there, because Jack's eyes narrowed, and he eyed Ianto as if he was able to see into his head. "Did the Doctor say something to you?" Jack asked. His shoulders raised a little bit in visible anger. "I swear-"

"No," Ianto interrupted. "No, he didn't." He considered his next words carefully. "If I wanted to go home, Jack, what would you do?"

Jack's face fell. "You...you want to go?"

Ianto sighed. "I didn't say that. I said _if_. _If_ I did, what would you do?"

Jack blinked a couple of times. "Well, I don't know. I'd...come back with you?" The upward lilt at the end of the phrase lent little sincerity to his words. Ianto's heart clenched abruptly, without warning, and he quickly closed the toilet lid in order to sit heavily on it. "Ianto?" Jack prompted, worry flooding back into his voice.

It took a single deep breath to begin to calm himself. Ianto looked up to Jack, still hovering by the door, and ached. "Jack, you know I love you." The words felt fumbled and awkward in his mouth, as they rarely said them, but it was nonetheless true. Jack nodded. "But you can't devote the rest of your life to me like I can to you."

Jack simply stared, something angry once again springing up to join the concern on his face.

Ianto nodded pointedly to the door, indicating the rest of the TARDIS. He then gave Jack a significant look, which earned him a ragged sigh.

"Are you trying to break up with me?" Jack demanded, harshly. "Because you think the Doctor wants to bang me?"

"Not the words I would use," Ianto snapped back, "but fine, if you want. He's immortal, Jack." Jack opened his mouth, but Ianto, body flooded with rage, continued, "I can't give you forever. I'll be gone eventually."

Jack closed his mouth with an audible click. His jaw worked for a moment, and he stared. "I told you," he said, at last, "that there wasn't anything to worry about. I thought you believed me."

"I did," Ianto admitted. "I _do_. It's not about right now. It's about later. When I'm gone, and River's gone."

"It's not going to happen," Jack said.

"I _am_ going to die, Jack," Ianto snapped. He wanted to stand, get in Jack's face, but he felt weak at the knees, and his stomach was turning enough that standing would probably be a bad idea. "I know it's idiotic, okay, to worry about the future after I'm dead. But I don't even want to _imagine_ you leaving me behind." His voice cracked dangerously.

Jack swallowed. "I didn't mean your death," he ground out. "I meant me and the Doctor. It's not going to happen. Ever."

Ianto turned the words over in his mouth, feeling them burn, and regretted them as soon as he said them: "I know you're in love with him."

Jack almost choked, spinning away to press his forehead to the door and take a few deep breaths. "I was," he admitted, almost too quietly to hear. "And I still...love him." It sounded painful for him to get the words out. "But I'm not _in_ love with him. Not anymore. But even if I was. It wouldn't happen."

"Why not?" Ianto pushed. "You two get along. You hardly do anything besides flirt and talk about all the fun times you had together-"

Jack turned again, eyes burning. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "The Doctor can hardly stand to touch me," he spat. "If I was still me, the old me, than maybe. _Maybe_ , in some twist of fate we could work out. But I'm Wrong, as he has so frequently pointed out, so it's not going to happen. Even if I wanted it to, which I _don't_. He's a Time Lord, and I'm a time anomaly. I shouldn't exist, and my very presence is painful for him. The fact that he let me come on board at all is a miracle."

Ianto searched for some sign of a remaining secret on Jack's face, but found none. His heart continued to pound in earnest. His palms felt far too sweaty. But he felt relieved all the same. Some weight dropped off his shoulders.

"I might find someone after you're gone," Jack whispered. The anger faded, replaced with nothing but bitter sadness. "I can't promise that I won't, Ianto. That's not fair of you to ask of me."

Ianto swallowed hard. "I know that. I don't want to...that's not what this is about. If they were like me, they couldn't give you forever, either."

Jack began to understand, so it seemed. "It's fair that way," he ventured.

Hesitantly, Ianto nodded. "It's selfish of me," he said, "but that's how I feel."

Jack slowly, very slowly, walked over to sit on the rim of the bathtub, elbows on his knees, which very nearly touched Ianto's. "I've been selfish, too," Jack said, more to the floor than to Ianto. "Maybe I shouldn't have brought you on board just because I missed it. That might not've been especially fair of me."

Ianto touched Jack's knee with his own, and left it there. A smile flickered at Jack's lips, painful and sad. "I like it here," Ianto admitted. "I like being here with you. I even like the Doctor, despite everything." Jack's smile grew into something a little happier.

"I'd choose you, Ianto," Jack promised. Though he still didn't look up, Ianto could see his eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and his chest tightened. "Always."

He'd choose Ianto, over all of time and space? Over the life he'd once had, that he wished desperately for so often, even to this day? Ianto wasn't sure he could believe it. He wasn't worth that. But he wanted to believe it. More than anything else.

Jack finally raised his head, and Ianto met him with a kiss.

* * *

 **I'm so sorry guys. I was only planning to wait two weeks between the last update and this one, but it's obviously been much longer than that. Things picked up a Lot at school, unexpectedly, and I also started working, so all of my free time got sucked away, essentially. I've also never been super happy with this chapter and couldn't figure out exactly why, so editing it was extremely difficult and I didn't want to put it out. I'm still not thrilled with it (and still don't know why), but I finally got a breather and decided to just post it.**

 **Updates will probably be more erratic than I'd anticipated, clearly, but rest assured that this story _will_ be updated, even if it takes longer than expected. I've still made little progress on the final chapters (grr), and have editing to do on the ones yet to be posted, but there are still 10 chapters of written (if not actually edited) material to go before I'll start really sweating.**

 **Gonna try and do some major writing and editing this weekend, so I can be ready in a couple weeks for the next update, but we'll see how it goes. Thanks for your patience, guys, I appreciate you 3**

 **As always, let me know what you think. And let me know wtf is wrong with this chapter lmao.**


	6. Same Dark Places

**Chapter title is from the JR JR song of the same name.**

* * *

Jack and Ianto had gotten bored with the sorting after a few days, so the Doctor had taken everyone out on a little trip to take a break. He'd hoped that, after what was supposed to be a refreshing holiday, they'd be up to helping him out again, but the vacation turned into another race for their lives, and once the lot of them had made it back to the TARDIS, everyone had immediately retired to bed. And neither Jack nor his boyfriend had expressed any interest in returning to chores the following day.

So, the Doctor went back to it on his own that night, feeling perhaps a bit more bitter than was warranted.

However, sorting through old Gallifreyan artifacts by himself was, as he should have predicted, a rather grim affair. He had to take frequent breaks to rush off to the console room and distract himself with repairs before returning. This meant that he made very little progress, and the progress he did make was much more painful.

He was finally forced to stop, for his own sanity, when he came across yet another of Susan's old baby toys: a sort of doll, clad in gold and maroon Time Lord robes, with felt-sheathed wire arms that swayed and bobbed with every movement. He shoved it into his pocket, stood, and very calmly exited the room. The moment the door closed behind him he felt a little bit better, but the toy weighed heavily in his bigger-on-the-inside pockets.

It was much harder to shrug off when there was nothing to distract him.

Unfortunately, the TARDIS was fairly caught up on all her repairs now, so there was nothing else to do to serve as a distraction other than to wander through the hallways and try to think about something else.

This didn't work too terribly well.

Just as he was wondering if he shouldn't go back to the console room and _make sure_ there was _really_ absolutely nothing that could be done, he heard a sound. The clanging of glass, far down the hall. At the same time, the TARDIS blew a frigid gust of cold air at his back, making the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. A very clear indication that he should investigate, then.

He ran a hand along the wall as he walked, a gentle _thank you_ to his ship, until he reached a familiar-looking door. It was a storage room, he knew immediately. He couldn't recall _what_ he'd stored in there, off the top of his head, but the TARDIS clearly wanted him to enter; she was flashing the lights around the door now, in a pattern he knew to mean _urgent_.

His hearts jumped a little. As he cautiously approached, the door slid open, and he found rows and rows of shelves - shelves full of old Gallifreyan alcohol he'd been hoarding for centuries. He'd never been a big drinker, even as a younger man, but having an alcohol collection was something he'd picked up from humans when he'd first started to bring them on board, and it had certainly come in handy after the Time War, when he'd...well, that didn't bear thinking about now. Different times.

He heard another clang, and frowned. It came from deep within the room, deeper than he'd expected. Obviously the TARDIS had been elevating the sound earlier, so that he would hear. So this was serious, then.

The Doctor picked his way among the shelves, attempting stealth. Another clang, this one a little softer. And the sound of something being poured. He sped up, worry spiking into his hearts. Worry that only intensified as he turned a corner and found none other than Jessica Jones knocking back a drink, sitting on the floor by herself.

He froze. His eyes locked immediately at the bottle beside her, and the Gallifreyan script written on the label. _Oh no_.

Jessica froze, too, hers was more of a defensive stance. As much as it could be on the floor, anyway. "Hey, Doctor," she said, roughly.

"Jessica," he said back, attempting nonchalance. But his voice was too high-pitched, and tainted with obvious worry.

Her cautious acknowledgement turned to a bitter scowl. "I can feel you judging me," she informed him. Her eyes flickered down, not quite in shame but coming close.

The Doctor's chest ached. "I'm not judging you," he assured her. He spoke a little too quickly out of suppressed concern, but Jessica obviously took it to mean he was lying, as she glared at him and reached for the bottle again. "Jessica," the Doctor blurted, and she paused, eyeing him. "How many drinks have you had?" he asked, careful to keep anything that could even be remotely considered disapproving out of his voice.

She poured another drink into a small cup she'd obviously taken from the kitchen, but didn't make a move to bring the cup to her lips. "About four," she hedged.

The Doctor's gut twisted. "Oh," he said. "Oh dear."

"It's not very strong," she defended. "Hey!" She tried to grab the bottle away, but the Doctor got to it first. He quickly capped it, and spun it around to read the label. His hearts lurched into high gear. Oh, this was very not good, very not good indeed.

"Don't drink the rest of that," he told her. He placed the bottle back on the shelf, very pointedly shoving his emotions about it to the back of his mind. They could be dealt with later.

"I'm an adult," she snapped back. Her eyes glinted with pain and anger and a dozen other emotions the Doctor couldn't decipher. She held the cup close to her, but still didn't drink. The Doctor's relief was potent enough that he could feel it in his toes.

"It's not about that," he assured her. "Jessica, I'm not human."

She scowled anew. "We've covered this."

"I have a different tolerance for alcohol than you do," he continued, pushing aside her comments. He poked at the bottle she'd been drinking from. "This is stronger than you think it is."

Her nose wrinkled, but he could see a bit of worry coming to the surface on her face.

"The equivalent of one drink for me is about four for you," he told her, watching her face the whole time. He poked at the bottle again. "And the effects on humans are...less than predictable. This is Gallifreyan alcohol. From my planet. Made for Time Lords. Like most of the stuff in here, actually."

She just stared up at him, though she'd gone a little pale. "Shit," she muttered. As if it might blow up in her face, she set the cup down beside her.

The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay," he said. "Okay, okay. Hop on up, Jones. We'll take care of this."

"I don't feel anything," she told him, even as she stood.

"That's good," he assured her. "Let's just get to a bathroom, shall we? We can talk about the 'why's of this whole situation later."

She grimaced, that painful glint returning to her eyes, but she relented and allowed him to guide her back to the entrance. He was starting to feel fairly hopeful about the whole thing - she was a heavy drinker (an alcoholic, really, although he'd never say that to her aloud for fear of a smack) with a high tolerance, so she might not need any medical treatment. Just someone to look after her for a little while. The Doctor considered waking Luke to inform him of the situation, but just as the thought occurred to him, Jessica toppled over.

He caught her at the last minute with a whispered curse, and quickly transferred to a bridal-style carry. She mumbled something under her breath, but he ignored her, too busy rushing toward the nearest bathroom - his own, he was pretty sure.

Sure enough, he set her down on the floor by his toilet, in the bathroom connected to his room. A few random gadgets laid on the sink's countertop, which he quickly tossed to his bed in order to keep them from falling into Jessica's hands.

"Where are we?" she asked, sounding dazed and looking even worse.

"My bathroom," he told her, hearts sinking. He stood over her, trying to think of something to do. Anything. She squinted up at him with foggy, unfocused eyes. "Er. Water!" he exclaimed. "Yes, that's a good idea."

"I think-" she began, but he'd already fled the room to find a cup - plastic, safe. He'd left one on his bedside table, along with a mangled alarm clock and a handful of wires. He filled it with water from the sink, and joined Jessica on the floor.

"Can you move?" he asked.

She hummed. "Prob'ly not."

He huffed a sigh. "Okay. Well." He set the cup down, and moved her as gently as possible into a sitting position, leaning against the toilet. He handed the cup to her, which she immediately dropped, spilling the contents all over the floor. Things were looking less and less good by the second.

He refilled the cup, and resorted to bringing it to her mouth for her. He felt a pang of nostalgia for nights spent up with sick kids, but quickly cast that out of his mind. She drank obediently enough for a moment, and then turned her head away unhappily after a few seconds. The Doctor relented for the moment, setting the cup back on the counter. "Okay," he said again. "It's been a long time - a _very_ long time - since I took care of anyone like this, but I'll give it a go."

"You're a Doctor," she pointed out, only just coherent enough that he understood her. She still managed to give him a skeptical look, despite it all, and he couldn't help but grin.

"Not really that kind of Doctor," he said. "Are you doing okay?"

"Alive," she replied.

"Try and stay that way," he told her, attempting a smile. "Nauseous yet?"

"No." She sniffed. "I should be more drunk, though. If that was...however many drinks that was."

The Doctor winced. "Yeah, probably. We'll, er, get there. I would get you food, but you'll probably throw it back up soon enough, so…"

She closed her eyes. "Hm."

What could he do? He watched her for a second, carefully tracking her facial expressions for any sign of distress. "I have a hangover treatment for you," he offered, wincing again as she twitched in surprise at the sound of his voice. "I could get that now."

"They have actual hangover treatments on other planets?" Jessica asked. She kept her eyes firmly shut. Her head dipped back to hit the toilet lid, a little too hard to be safe, and she immediately brought it back up, with effort. The Doctor grimaced.

"It's more of an educated guess on my part. Take a load of the right vitamins and it eliminates the more unpleasant side effects."

"Sounds like a medical treatment, _Doctor_."

He didn't reply, although a smile ghosted over his face. He watched her for another minute and, when she seemed to be doing alright, he stood. "I'll be right back."

As quickly as possible, he popped back into the hall and rushed to the medical wing. It took a few minutes of digging through various cupboards and drawers, but he finally tracked down a few of the necessary vitamin patches. Enough to help Jessica on her way to a less painful morning. He shoved the patches into his pockets, snatched up a bottle of ibuprofen, and dashed back down to his room.

Jessica was in the same place he'd left her, although she'd now gone a little too pale, and her head was again craned awkwardly back against the toilet.

"Oh dear," the Doctor said. "Alright, Jones?" He set the bottle of pills on the counter, and fished frantically in his pockets for the patches.

She managed a painful-sounding groan. He continued to search for the vitamins, now with added haste. Instead of the medicine, he dug up a past-ripe banana, a yo-yo, and...Susan's toy.

He froze, without even realizing he'd done so, staring at it with a sinking stomach, until Jessica spoke up, hardly understandable: "What's that?"

The Doctor snapped out of it, and quickly cleared his throat. He set the toy on the counter, its soft wire arms bobbing gently. He dug into his pockets again, and at last brought out a handful of junk that happened to include the vitamin patches.

"Doc," Jessica said.

"Don't call me that," the Doctor told her. He tore open one of the patches, and turned to find her staring blearily at him, eyes more unfocused than before. "They're vitamin patches."

Jessica squinted. Then, her head fell back against the toilet again, painfully loud. She didn't lift it back up.

The Doctor got on his knees, and slapped the first patch onto her forearm. On the other arm, he put another, and then he placed the last one just under her t-shirt sleeve. As soon as they were on he relaxed a little. "That's done," he announced.

Jessica was far less pleased, and clumsily picked at one of the patches. The Doctor, alarmed, pulled her hand away. It took a considerable amount of effort, as she used all her strength to try and resist him, but as she was inebriated that strength was somewhat reduced. And he was still a Time Lord. "'S itchy," she snapped at him, attempting to smack him. She missed wildly. It would have been endearing, if he weren't so concerned.

"I know," he said. "Sorry, Jones. You'll thank me later. You can take them off in a few hours."

"Hours?" she repeated, scandalized, and the Doctor swiftly moved on as to avoid any further anger. She was far gone enough that she'd forget about it soon enough, anyway. Hopefully.

"You look pale," he informed her. "Do you feel sick?"

She made a strange face at him that was probably supposed to be defiant, but it came off far more confused, in the Doctor's opinion. Nonetheless, she groused a quiet, bitter, "yes."

"Please don't throw up on my floor," he requested, trying for humor and managing nothing more than a strained edge to his voice. "Er, if you have to I guess that's better than other possibilities. Don't throw up on _yourself_. Better rule. Or me, preferably, but I could live with that. I just don't want to change you. I don't think you'd like me to do that." He paused. That thought hadn't before occurred to him. She would probably be _very_ unhappy for him to do anything even remotely resembling removing clothing. "Should I get Luke?" he asked her. When she didn't immediately respond, her eyes now squeezed shut, he ventured a careful poke to her shoulder. "Jessica."

"Tryin' not to puke on the floor," she grit out.

The Doctor immediately pulled back. As she was leaning on the toilet and did not seem inclined to move, that wouldn't work as a target. He needed a bowl, or a bucket, but he didn't think there were any of either in his room. He glanced over his shoulder into the bedroom, scanning over what he could see, trying to find something of use, anything at all-

Jessica failed in her efforts dramatically, and all over the both of them and the floor.

"Oh," the Doctor said, simply. He stopped breathing through his nose at once, and took careful stock of the situation.

Jessica sat, in apparent shock, visibly relieved, but with a telltale tinge of embarrassed red in her cheeks. Her entire front was drenched, as were the Doctor's calves and shoes, and the small amount of white tile between them. It was absolutely disgusting but, fortunately, the Doctor had seen _far_ worse before. He constructed a plan - first, he would clean the floor. Then Jessica. Then himself.

"Do you want me to get Luke?" he asked again. Jessica _sniffled_. An actual, slightly teary, embarrassed _sniffle_.

 _Oh, no_ , he thought. _I'm terrible with tears, let alone Jessica Jones tears_. He wasn't sure he'd ever actually seen her cry. Ever. That particular realization sent a spike of sympathy through him, and he attempted a smile at his newest companion.

"It's okay," he assured her, haltingly. "Er...I'll be right back, Jones. Stay here." Maybe that last bit was redundant, as the last thing he expected her to do was _move_ , but nonetheless he left it at that and raced off down the hall again.

He found her room with only a little bit of searching, thanks to the TARDIS, and picked out the first comfortable-looking outfit he could find - sweatpants and a baggy shirt that he recognized from the wardrobe room. He then found the nearest cleaning closet, and retrieved a mop bucket and the appropriate chemicals to scrub the floor.

By the time he returned to the bathroom, arms overflowing with supplies, he found Jessica had moved to the other side of the toilet, and had opened the lid. She spared a brief, disoriented glance at him as he entered, and then turned back to bend her head over the toilet bowl.

"Alright, Jones?" the Doctor asked. He set the change of clothes down on the counter, and prepared his mop bucket and rag. She grunted.

"I...I feel bad," she grit out, into the toilet. The Doctor began to scrub, ignoring his pang of regret.

"Don't," he said. "It's not your fault."

"Shoulda read the label," she whispered, softer.

"That's actually impossible," the Doctor informed her, daring to smile, "as it's not in English and the TARDIS doesn't translate Gallifreyan."

"Why doesn't it?" she interrupted.

Although the Doctor's hearts skipped, he plowed on in pretend-obliviousness. "Maybe you shouldn't have drank alcohol from a bottle you couldn't read, but I assume there were circumstances that drove you to do it." He waited, hoping to come off as patient, while internally he squirmed. This seemed like it might be a _feelings_ conversation.

She _sniffled_ again, and his hearts jumped in worry. "Bad day," was all she said.

Well. That hit a little too close to home.

The Doctor ducked his head to make sure she couldn't see his face fall, and said to the floor, "Er. Do you want to talk about it? Or something."

Resolutely, she replied, "No."

He was both relieved and disappointed, nearly in equal measure. "Okay." He mopped up the last of the mess in silence, before washing the dirty water down the sink, rinsing the rag, and setting the lot of it on a dry part of the floor. He laid down a towel on the wet area of the tile, and then turned his attentions to Jessica, who was still head-down by the toilet, sniffling occasionally and looking right miserable.

"I have a change of clothes for you," he told her. "Can you change yourself?"

She dared a dizzy, glassy-eyed look up at him, and slurred a, "maybe."

Maybe would have to be good enough. The Doctor set the clothes down beside her. "I'll be in my room," he said. "Tell me when you're done, and I'll take the dirty clothes."

She sniffled again, but nodded. The Doctor fled the room to do his own changing, keeping an ear out for any thuds or additional noises of falling. He shed his trousers in exchange for a new, nearly identical pair, and tossed his soiled boots and socks aside. However, he realized immediately after that he didn't have any replacement boots, and the idea of going barefoot on a recently-puked-on floor was, despite his cleaning, not a pleasant one.

He found his old pair of white Chucks half-under his bed and, in a fit of nostalgia, slipped them on. They slid on as easily as ever, though the fit was a little tighter. He then sat on the bed, wriggling his toes inside his shoes, and waited for Jessica to call for him. When she finally did - a muffled "kay" - he carefully entered the bathroom to find her in a similar position as he'd left her, only this time clad in her new outfit.

"Not so bad, was it?" he asked, cautiously optimistic.

"Getting worse," she mumbled into the toilet.

All his hopes fell in a wave of resigned disappointment. "All to be expected, I suppose. How do you feel?"

"Think I might black out," she said, utterly toneless but for a twinge of that old embarrassment.

The Doctor grimaced. "Oh...okay, okay. That's...but you aren't dying?"

"You're the doctor here," she said.

"Not that kind of doctor," he said back, again. He worked his jaw for a moment, building the structures of a few different strategies. "Let's make a deal, Jessica Jones."

She grunted, the sound echoing in the toilet bowl.

The Doctor continued, "You keep me updated on how you're feeling, and I'll…" he considered for a moment. "I won't tell anyone about this. Especially not Trish."

"You wouldn't dare anyway," Jessica growled.

No. No, he probably wouldn't. Despite popular belief, so it seemed, he wasn't _cruel_. But that didn't mean he couldn't bluff. "Oh, I would dare," he declared. "I know she's worried about you. I'm sure she'd like to know. It might even be considered poor manners for me to _not_ tell her, considering she's your best friend and all."

Jessica muttered something unintelligible to the toilet, and the Doctor gave up on deciphering it. Eventually, however, she relented with a muffled, "Fine," and the Doctor relaxed.

"Good," he said, projecting as much cheer as possible. "Excellent. So. How do you feel?"

"Sick. Dizzy." She paused, like she might say something else. The Doctor waited. And waited, and waited. She stared into the toilet, and he itched with impatience in the doorway, pretending that he wasn't itching at all. Finally, he gave up and opened his mouth, but that was when she decided to continue with a strained, "Guilty."

He snapped his mouth closed and sighed. Gingerly, he stepped forward, and slid to the floor on the opposite side of the toilet, just clear of the towel, leaning against the wall while keeping an eye on his new charge. "Don't be guilty," he said. "It's okay, Jessica. I'm not angry." Maybe he was a little peeved about the loss of the Gallifreyan alcohol, but that was only because there was an exceedingly small amount of it. An exceedingly small amount of Gallifreyan _anything_. And she didn't know about that, so he couldn't really be angry.

She made another of those dreaded sniffling noises. The Doctor hid a wince by ducking his head. "I fucked it up," she whispered. "The...with the robot chicken things."

It took a long, long moment for the Doctor to decode this statement. "Oh! You mean the Tyrbytes? They aren't meant to be chickens, Jessica." She paused in her misery to give him a slightly watery-eyed scowl, and he tugged at his bowtie before hastily moving on. "Er, putting that aside, they were _supposed_ to be a trap, to catch humans specifically. They prey on the natural human urge to help wounded animals. Your lot's infamous for developing bonds with barely-sentient creatures, _even robots,_ and the people of that planet took advantage of that. Not your fault you fell for it."

"I shoulda known better," she said, slightly louder, and more audibly upset. The Doctor's hearts twisted. "It was making noises like it was hurt, but I knew it wasn't a real living thing, so I shoulda fucking known that it-" she cut herself off with a painful-sounding hiccup, which then progressed straight into another bout of heaving.

The Doctor let her ride it out, resisting the urge to comfort her. When she was done, and spat into the bowl, he flushed it for her. "My first instinct was to help it, too," he confided, once the bathroom was silent again. "I would have been far more concerned if you'd been able to simply ignore it and walk on by." She sniffled once more. "You have a big heart for others, Jessica Jones, although I know you hate to hear me say it. It's not a bad thing. Don't feel guilty for it."

She didn't speak for several minutes, her breathing echoing loudly in the room. The Doctor let his head fall back against the wall. He realized, sitting there, that he was tired. More so than even he had known until now. It had been a few days since he'd gotten so much of a wink of sleep. Not since he'd started the sorting. He was already a little sore from his time spent on the floor thus far, and his eyes burned a little when he closed them. And sitting on the bathroom floor, still slightly wet from the water Jessica had dropped, his old trainers on, well...it brought back some rather unpleasant memories from his time with her the first time round.

"'S not just that," she whispered, startling him. He jerked his head up to look at her, but she kept her gaze aimed firmly into the water. "Been having bad days. For a while. Little ones. Not bad-bad. I just keep thinking. About things I shouldn't."

The Doctor closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the wall again. He understood completely. "About Kilgrave?" he guessed, softly.

She hiccuped again, and that was all the answer he needed.

"I'm sorry, Jessica," he said.

"But he's not you," she whispered back. Despite her words, she sounded a little bit fearful. As if he might turn around and reveal that he'd been lying the whole time, that he really had turned into Kilgrave, that...the Doctor's hearts leapt into his throat.

"I know. But I can still be sorry," he told her. "Nothing like that should ever happen to anyone. And it especially shouldn't have happened to you."

It was quiet enough in the room to hear the tiny _drip_ of a tear hitting the water. The Doctor pretended he hadn't heard, for Jessica's sake, though his chest tightened in response.

"You," she said, and then stopped. And then tried again, "you-" and then stopped. "Forgot what I was gonna say," she muttered. "Think...I forgot."

The Doctor sat up, and scooted over to her to examine her face. Her eyes were open, but staring blankly into the toilet. He detected a tear track on one side of her face, and her other eye watered dangerously.

"You're not gonna tell Trish, right?" she asked, ever so slightly worried.

"No," the Doctor assured her. As unthreateningly as possible, he took her right hand, the nearest one to him, and pressed his thumb to her pulse. It fluttered quickly, but steadily. She was okay for the moment. Still breathing relatively calmly, and with enough rhythm that it seemed safe.

"You're cold," she slurred.

"I have a lower core body temperature than you," he said, smiling although he knew she wasn't looking. Maybe she would be able to hear it in his voice. "Enough that humans tend to notice."

She blinked a couple of times. "What else?" she asked. She turned her head slightly, laid her cheek against the toilet seat. Which, all things considered, was kind of gross, but she wasn't exactly in the position to be worried about that. So the Doctor moved on.

"You know about the two hearts thing," he mused. "And regeneration. Obviously. There's not too much more to tell, really." He released her hand in order to criss-cross his legs, and then propped his elbow on his knee and held his head there. "I have a time sense, so I'm fantastic at keeping track of the time."

Jessica _almost_ smiled.

He very nearly mentioned the telepathy thing, but at the last minute decided that that would be a bad idea. Especially if she was already having a rough time with Kilgrave-related memories. It would only upset her. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't sure it would be a good idea to tell her at all. Ever. He changed the topic slightly, swerving off into a tangent about Time Lord timekeeping techniques, though he didn't pay much attention to what he was saying. It didn't seem like Jessica absorbed all that much of it anyhow. She started to repeat questions every few minutes, having entirely forgotten his answers. Still, the Doctor would respond again as if she'd asked for the first time. She already felt bad enough as it was.

Though he knew he would have to wake her up again soon, just to make sure she was still functioning, he let her fall asleep there. He took her pulse again, but kept his hand looped around her wrist this time.

Even asleep, she still seemed miserable. Her position was not a comfortable one, and she was still a little too pale, her flushed cheeks standing out against the rest of her skin.

"The other Time Lords are dead," he said, before he could stop himself. She didn't so much as twitch. He closed his hand tighter around her wrist, not sure what he was searching for. Comfort, or a sign that she was awake, or any signs of distress...he couldn't tell.

Then, her eyes fluttered open, half-focusing on him. "You say something?" she asked.

"No," he said. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "No."

* * *

As predicted, things got worse.

Jessica threw up again ten minutes after his accidental confession, and became even less coherent. She fell unconscious once, but the Doctor was able to rouse her relatively quickly. Mostly, their routine alternated between the Doctor having a semi-normal conversation with her (if you ignored the repeated questions and slurred words), and him babbling pointlessly at her while she dozed. And sometimes she would dissolve into tears, unprompted, and he would awkwardly have to console her. Fortunately for her pride, she seemed to forget those incidents in their entirety.

"When you stop looking like death, I'll put you to bed," he told her. She blinked at him, but didn't answer. "I'm sure we only have a couple of hours of this left," he assured her, which was met with another blink.

She looked like she might answer, but then she simply frowned. "What'd you say?"

"Nothing," he sighed. He'd moved to sit against the wall again, although he'd moved to the one opposite the toilet, where Jessica was closer. "I suppose you probably won't remember any of this, will you, Jones?"

"I hope not," she muttered into the toilet.

"I hope you don't either," he admitted, quietly. "It's rather unpleasant."

"Rather," she snorted.

He smiled. "More than rather." They fell into silence, and as it had often done over the past hour and a half, the Doctor's gaze roamed to Susan's toy where it still sat on the counter. It looked lonely and small and sad there, out of place among the toothpaste and empty bottles of face wash and soap.

"I had a granddaughter," he said, before he could think too much about it. "Her name was Susan."

"My grandma's name was Susan," Jessica mumbled. When the Doctor looked at her, he found that her eyes had closed again. "She sewed me a sweater one year. For Christmas."

"Susan's a good name," the Doctor said. "My Susan got to pick her name, you know. When we came to Earth." He picked at a thread on his shirt. He'd long since hung up his tweed, afraid of ruining it, and so was now in shirtsleeves and braces. Of course, the bowtie still remained, too. "You, er. Don't talk about your parents, Jones."

"They died," she replied. An edge of buried sorrow rose in her voice. "When I was a kid. It was my fault."

The Doctor sighed. "I doubt that, but I understand the feeling."

"'S how I ended up meeting Trish," she continued, without prompting. "Her mom adopted me."

"That's nice of her."

"She's a bitch."

The Doctor winced. "Too bad."

"Trish deserves better," Jessica went on, with more feeling. "She's a good person."

Smiling, the Doctor nudged Jessica's foot. "That's what I mean, Jones. You care for other people. You look after Trish." Jessica fell darkly silent. "I know you feel guilty. About several different things. But your feelings don't dictate reality. You may feel guilty about something, but that doesn't mean that you're responsible for it."

Jessica didn't say a word, though her breathing went slightly harsh for several seconds. Finally, however, all she said was "take your own advice."

Maybe he should have expected that from her, though. The Doctor sighed again, and brought his knees up to his chest to wrap his arms around them and lay his chin on the surface they offered. "That's a different situation," he said. "Several different situations. Not comparable, really." He watched her for a moment, and then changed tactics. "I don't want to upset you, Jones. But I want to know about your parents."

Jessica sniffled. "My mom taught me to ice skate."

The Doctor mentally cursed his decision to go skating for their first trip, and grimaced. "Oh."

"My dad watched TV with me on the weekends. I had a little brother, too. His name was Phillip."

"I'm sorry." They sat in silence again. The Doctor hoped she might speak up once more, flesh out these people that had once been so central to her life, but she remained stubbornly silent. He couldn't blame her. He knew how it hurt to poke at old wounds. "I was an only child," he said, to break the ringing quiet. "I wanted a sister, when I was young. Not that it matters terribly with Time Lords, since regeneration can change sex or gender or both right quick." He pulled at his bowtie. "But I didn't even get a brother, either. My parents were tired out after me, I guess."

Jessica snorted. "I bet."

Silence returned, but it was softer this time.

* * *

Jessica Jones woke up, and all she knew for several seconds was pain.

Her entire body ached, like she'd been dragged behind a truck for a mile. Her entire mouth was horribly dry, and it was _disgusting_. Most of all, her head pounded with every heartbeat, so painful she could barely think. She was afraid to open her eyes. Not just because of the pain, but because of what she worried she might find if she did.

She quickly took inventory of her body - everything seemed to be in place, despite the agony she was in. She was safely bundled underneath a load of blankets but for her head, and a single arm, which was exposed to the cool air of the room. There was also something wrapped loosely around her free wrist, chilled but not quite cold, directly on the pulse point.

Jessica took a slow, calming breath in, and another one out. And carefully, painfully, opened her eyes.

Fortunately for her, there was hardly any light in the room. The overhead lights were on, but dim enough to avoid any new torment. Her eyes felt dry and were probably gross and red, but that was bearable. This lack of pain allowed her to focus immediately on the figure lying beside her, however, which soon had her gritting her teeth in embarrassment.

It was the Doctor. Fully dressed (thank God) besides his tweed jacket. Lying on his side, facing her. One of his suspenders had come off his shoulder, the shoulder not buried into the mattress, and hung loosely on his arm. His face was utterly slack, asleep, without any sign that he'd heard her wake up. It was one of his hands around her wrist, as if he'd fallen asleep while attempting to take her pulse.

"Doctor," she whispered. Her throat felt like death, and she had a horrible taste in her mouth. The Doctor didn't move. Not even a hitch of the breath to indicate that he'd noticed her. Jessica sighed, and closed her eyes again. They burned. "God, I'm an asshole," she muttered. Gently, she slipped out of his grip, and ran her hands over her face.

She tried to think back to the night before, and found little more than a blank where the memories should have been.

She hadn't blacked out drinking since late high school. She didn't know what to make of this, didn't know how to feel. She probably owed the Doctor an apology, for stealing his alcohol in a fit of desperation and then making him stay up to look after her.

God, she was kind of the worst, wasn't she?

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Jessica forced herself beyond that for the moment. If she really tried, she could attempt to reconstruct some of what had happened. Once she'd done that, she would at least feel a little bit better.

Her memories ended, for the most part, after they'd talked about Kilgrave. But she could summon a few more after that point - foggy and weird, but there.

The most clear was that of sobs tearing through her body, the toilet seat digging painfully into her forehead. The Doctor hovering nearby, piping up every few seconds to try and console her, sounding lost and earnest. She was speaking, but it was mostly incoherent. She couldn't even follow her own thought process beyond a few small details - something about nightmares and Kilgrave and and overwhelming, choking guilt.

She pushed her tangle of feelings about that aside, and moved on.

The next recollection that she was able to pinpoint was a little less distinct, and less painful by far. She was sitting by the toilet again, but this time she was calm, almost half-asleep, her cheek on the seat (which _ew_ , but that wasn't important. She could shower later). The Doctor was talking, but she couldn't understand anything he was saying. He gestured like he was describing something, and his eyes glinted like they did when he was talking about something he found especially fascinating, but Jessica had no clue what it could possibly be about. After a few moments she gave up, listening tiredly instead to the musical, lilting sound of the words. The memory didn't last long, only thirty or forty seconds.

She realized, in retrospect, that he'd been speaking his language. Fast, obviously not expecting her to even attempt to understand. Just to say something, she guessed. She probably hadn't made the best conversation partner, so she couldn't blame him. She could remember, however, an instance of him speaking clear English. When he thought she was listening, she realized with another pang of guilt.

In the memory, he spoke as usual, inappropriately cheerful. But he leaned over her now, his eyes nothing but concerned as he wiped her face with a cold rag. "It's okay," he told her. "I can change the sheets." She sat against a wall, not in the bathroom, soaked in sweat and shivering and feeling horrible inside and out. She heard herself apologize, again and again, as the Doctor drew away and stripped the sheets and blankets from the bed. He was wearing the white Converse he'd worn when she'd met him.

Oh God, she'd thrown up in the bed. Horrified, Jessica groaned, and dug her fingers into her face. And she'd thrown up on him, and on herself, and all over the bathroom floor. She remembered that part pretty clearly. Unfortunately. "Shit," she muttered. "Shit, shit-"

"Jessica?" the Doctor said. His voice was sleep-worn and indistinct. When she dared a glance at him, his eyes were still half-closed. Still, he smiled at her. "You're awake!" He managed to sound enthusiastic.

"God," Jessica said. She turned away, and covered her face again. "Shit. I'm sorry, Doctor." She tried to keep the full depth of her embarrassment out of her voice, but she failed miserably. Her eyes burned with more than just dryness - bitterly, she blinked away a traitorous tear. Thankfully, it was from the side of her face that he couldn't see.

He hummed. "No more sorry's, Jones." She looked again, and his eyes were fully closed again. "Just a mistake."

"I should control myself better," she snapped. "I know that, you know that. Everyone knows. You don't need to coddle me."

"You have a dependency," he said. She expected some kind of judgement. The absolute lack of it was _baffling_. Still, she kept searching for it, her chest tightening. "Not entirely your fault. Just a mistake. It happens."

Her eyes burned again. She was never this emotional, not to the point where she cried. God, this hangover was really fucking her up. "I should've thought for a second, at least, that maybe I shouldn't drink alien liquor," she said. "If nothing-fucking-else."

"Maybe," the Doctor allowed, "but you weren't thinking clearly."

Jessica groaned, so loudly that it hurt. "How much did I fucking tell you?" she whispered. "Shit."

"Not much," he said. "I didn't pry too much. I can be polite. Let the record show." He still had his eyes closed, she noted when she looked for a third time. She moved to staring behind him, to the nightstand. There was something on it that might have once been an alarm clock, but it was so horribly disfigured she almost felt bad for it. Then there was a bottle of mild painkillers, ibuprofen or something of the sort, and a weird-looking doll thing, stick-thin and covered in gold and deep red felt. She remembered, vaguely, him taking it out of his pocket and setting it on the bathroom counter earlier in the night.

"This is your room, isn't it?" she asked.

He hummed a sort of affirmative-sounding hum.

That didn't help her feel any better about puking in the bed. _His_ bed. Jesus.

"Don't mind the mess," he said, a beat too late. "I've been sorting through things on the TARDIS and I've yet to find a place for a good lot of it."

"So that's what you've been doing," Jessica mused. "We were wondering why we've hardly seen you." He'd been nearly entirely missing for a full 48 hours at one point, and if Jack and Ianto hadn't shown up for dinner and explained themselves, they probably would have started up a manhunt.

"Unfortunately," he said, around a yawn. "It's very boring. And other...not fun adjectives. So really, you provided a good distraction."

"I'm so glad my poor relationship with alcohol could help you," Jessica snarked, without any real heat. He hummed again, not quite smiling. She watched him, attempting to smother another rise of potent guilt. "The only time I've seen you this tired is when you were drugged to the point that you could barely move," she pointed out. "You haven't been sleeping, have you?"

He cracked open an eye to glare at her. "Jessica Jones, you'd better not be lecturing me about my health."

"I'm a hypocrite," Jessica said. "I don't deny it."

The eye closed, and he sighed, oozing peevishness. "I've been busy," he deflected. "And anyway, I'm sleeping _now_. Look." He clumsily toed off the sneakers he'd still been wearing, and curled in a little on himself. Despite herself, Jessica felt a little relieved seeing them disappear. Something about seeing him wearing his old shoes made her itch. "Sleeping."

Jessica huffed a laugh. "You're an idiot."

"I am a genius, but thank you," the Doctor told her. "Back to sleep with you, too, Jones. You need it. Take care of yourself."

Jessica sighed. "I feel shitty, Doctor. About everything."

"I know," he said. "We had a long discussion about it. Actually, probably two or three. You're very stubborn."

Jessica groaned. "Jesus."

"I don't mind repeating myself," he continued. "But first - sleep."

Reluctantly, but glad to avoid the looming conversation for another couple of hours, Jessica pulled the blankets up to her chin and hid inside the warmth. Beside her, the Doctor's breathing evened out. Despite everything - her boiling guilt, and pounding head, and burning eyes - it felt safe. And calm.

Weird, to share a bed with the Doctor, even in a strictly platonic way, but not necessarily bad. No less warm or quiet.

"Thank you," Jessica whispered, before she could think about it. She was almost grateful that the Doctor didn't respond, even if he had heard it. She turned over to her other side, and relaxed.

* * *

 **Wow, I'm alive?**

 **Sorry about the hiatus, guys. I meant to post this so much sooner, because this was one of my favorite chapters to write overall, although I'm not 100% happy with it even now.**

 **I can't say when the next chapter will be up, either, because I'm struggling with editing, as usual, but it'll get here eventually! Thank you all so much for your patience and support. It means the world.**

 **Also, it's my birthday tomorrow! Don't worry about gifts lol, just leave me a review and tell me what you think!**

 **Love you guys. Stay tuned!**


	7. Ducasse and the Doctor

Jessica's phone went straight to voicemail for the tenth time that day.

Malcolm stared at the screen blankly. All of the fear and guilt and horror he kept pushing back swirled in his stomach, and the smell of the pizza in the passenger seat only aggravated his nausea.

He startled when a knock came to his window, but it was an utterly unthreatening teenage boy - pale and pimpled, in clothes slightly too big, hovering uncertainly outside the car. Malcolm steadied himself before rolling down the window.

"Is-" the kid started, and then cleared his throat as his voice broke. He pointed inside the car, to the pizzas in the seat. "Is one of those for me? Uh, an order for Jameson."

Malcolm bit back a curse. "Yeah. I'm sorry, man, I got distracted." He checked the time, and had to struggle to keep his language clean again as he calculated that he'd been sitting there for close to ten minutes. He took a breath and moved on, checking the receipts on each of the boxes beside him. "Jameson...two large pepperonis?"

"Yeah."

The kid, fortunately, had no objections to taking his delivery through the car window. He was too thrilled to finally be getting his food to protest. "Thanks," he said. Despite his wait, he shoved a five into Malcolm's hands.

The second the kid had vanished into his building, Malcolm let his head fall back and hit the headrest. He breathed, and struggled to keep the breaths even.

He hadn't heard from Jessica for more than 24 hours. And in the past few hours he'd lost contact with both Luke and Trish as well. The last thing he'd known was that they had finished investigating the kidnappers. Jessica had told him that they would talk about what they'd all found later. After she'd vanished, when Malcolm had talked to Trish, all Trish had said was that Jessica had left with a man named Jack, and that she would call Malcolm back in a few hours to check in. She'd never called.

So, naturally, Malcolm had been obsessing over it, to the point that he couldn't think about anything else. He'd had to go into work, but he'd spent his whole shift so far distracted and painfully worried, and that didn't seem likely to change.

By the time he got off work, and had made his way back to his apartment building, he was even more miserable. He didn't know who else to go to in his search. He was still half-hoping Jessica would call him back, somehow, though it was seeming more and more likely to his panicked mind that she was dead in a ditch somewhere.

He wondered where the hell Kilgrave was, and where he fit into all this. The very thought made his blood run icy and painful through his veins.

He unlocked his door, and trudged inside his dark apartment, throwing his hat onto the couch and collapsing immediately beside it.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Fortunately for him, the universe gave him an answer. Unfortunately, it did so by presenting an entirely new, entirely unexpected problem.

Something boxy and blue began to loudly materialize in his cramped living room.

Although Malcolm's very core ached with the strength of his physical and mental exhaustion, that mattered very little the moment he realized what was happening. He sprung up from the couch, unable to breathe for fear, and picked up the baseball bat he kept by the couch in case of robbery emergencies. He'd never really had to use it before. It felt awkward in his hands, and the splinters in the wood dug sharply into his palms.

The blue box solidified. _POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX,_ it read in glowing white letters. The combined illumination of the words and the small light at the top of the box washed the room out in yellow-white.

Malcolm swallowed hard. His breath, which he had only just regained, hitched as one of the small doors cracked open, ever so slightly, spilling yellow-orange light onto the floor.

"You're not going to shoot me, are you?" an English voice asked, from inside the box.

Malcolm opened his mouth, and then closed it. And then opened it again, and then closed it. Finally, he managed to say, "Uh...no?" Then, quickly, he amended, "but I have a weapon, so don't...I'm not afraid to use it…"

The door opened just a little bit wider. "A weapon?" the voice asked, perplexed. "But not a gun. What is it?"

It was probably a terrible idea to tell his intruders what he was planning on attacking them with, but Malcolm, numb with confusion and fright, replied without thinking. "Um. It's a bat?"

"A bat? You're trying to use a _bat_ as a weapon? I suppose if you threw it, that'd definitely be a distraction, but I wouldn't call it a weapon, personally." White fingers grasped at the closed door. And then, a head popped out, slightly sideways. A floppy-haired, large-chinned head, with a crimson bow-tie around the neck. "Oh!" the head exclaimed, eyes lighting up. "A _baseball_ bat! Not a _bat_ -bat. See, I was thinking-"

" _Move_ , Doctor," a heart-stoppingly familiar voice ordered. Malcolm let the bat fall from his hands entirely as the man's head disappeared, and Jessica Jones opened the box's doors. "Hey," she said, casually. Behind her, Malcolm saw an impossibly large orange room. A room full of people. Including none other than Trish Walker, and Luke Cage.

Still, all he could say was "you're not dead."

Jessica frowned. "No, definitely not dead." She glanced behind her, to where the man was standing, hands clasped in front of him. "When the hell are we?"

The man frowned back, and crossed his arms. "We only just left. Right, Malcolm?"

Malcolm realized his mouth was hanging open, and quickly shut it. "It's...you've been gone for almost two days." He looked back to Trish and Luke again. Trish wore an apologetic smile as she waved at him. Luke shrugged. The four other people all standing together in the room - three men and one woman - exchanged glances.

Jessica turned and smacked the bowtied man, eliciting an offended "hey!" and a cringe back. "I tried," he continued, loudly, taking a few large steps away from his attacker. He pointed at her. "You watched me put the date in, you saw-"

"Can someone _please_ explain?" Malcolm interrupted. His head was spinning so much he thought he might fall over.

"Sorry, sorry," the man said. He approached the doorway again, eyeing Jessica as he did so, preparing for another assault. He stuck a hand out, and smiled. Malcolm stared, and realized that the glint in the man's eyes looked weirdly familiar. "Proper introduction, eh? Nice to meet you Malcolm, I'm the Doctor."

Malcolm glanced at Jessica. She had a half smile on her face, happier than he'd probably ever seen her. Hesitantly, he took the offered hand and shook it. "Uh, nice to meet you, too."

The man's smile widened. He shook Malcolm's hand so enthusiastically it almost hurt when they were done. "Frankly, I never thought I'd hear you say that," the man said. "But I love a good fresh start."

Malcolm tried to think this through. "Have we...met?"

"Are you still not a fan of tea, or could I interest you in a cup?" the man asked, as if he hadn't heard the question at all. He made a beckoning motion as he turned and bounded up a small flight of glass stairs, up to a weird mechanical console in the middle of the room. After another glance at Jessica, who was still smiling encouragingly (or as encouragingly as she could), Malcolm took a step inside.

"Um," he said, eloquently.

"I'm Jack," one of the men spoke up, stepping forward to shake Malcolm's hand. "This is Ianto."

"Hi," Malcolm said, weakly.

"Amy," the redheaded woman said with a wave. "My husband, Rory." She pulled the large-nosed man at her side just a little closer.

"Hi," Rory said, smiling a sympathetic smile.

Malcolm attempted to give one back.

The bowtied man ignored them, fiddling with controls on the console. "We do have more than just lemon and ginger, this time, though," he continued. "Earl Grey and green and orange and mint and-"

Lemon and ginger. Malcolm immediately thought back to hyperventilating on Jessica's floor, Kilgrave and his cups of tea and dark eyes and uncertainty. The familiarity of the eyes clicked, and Malcolm's entire body went cold.

"Kilgrave?" he whispered. That was impossible, but...he turned to Jessica, whose smile had transformed into a grimace. "What-what the hell-"

"Not Kilgrave!" the man said. "Never was. Thought I was going to be for a bit there, but it never happened."

Malcolm fought for breath. "I...I just…"

"Let's have a cup of tea," the Doctor said. He stopped what he was doing, and cast a kind smile down at Malcolm. "And we can talk it over."

* * *

Malcolm quickly found that he liked lemon tea well enough after all, as long as he wasn't staring into the face of the man who had destroyed his life while it was offered to him.

He also found that the man he'd thought was the same one responsible for his current situation was, in fact, not the same at all.

The only reason Malcolm was really able to reconcile that the man across the table from him was the same as the memory-lossed Kilgrave was because of the fidgeting, and the tinkering.

Even as they talked, the Doctor fiddled with some mangled, ugly-looking gadget, apparently to keep his hands busy more than anything else. It reminded Malcolm of waking up on Jessica's couch to the sounds of not-Kilgrave working on her camera.

"So, in conclusion, I'm very sorry about the misunderstanding, and we've all been hoping that you'd be open to coming on a bit of an adventure with us." The Doctor finished this statement with a bright smile.

Malcolm took a gulp of his rapidly-cooling tea. "You're calling it a...misunderstanding?"

The Doctor's brow furrowed, as if Malcolm had asked a particularly puzzling question. "...Yes?"

"Isn't that kind of...an underreaction?"

The Doctor quirked a smaller, more brittle smile. "Worse things have happened. And anyway, as I've already covered, it was at least half my fault, if not more. But that's not important! What _is_ is that you have a decision to make." Pointedly, he stopped his tinkering and set the gadget firmly on the table. "You can return calmly to your life, as if none of this ever happened, or you can come on a trip."

Maybe it was all better left in the past. Malcolm took a breath. He could walk outside now, head into work tomorrow...knowing that Jessica and Trish and Luke were safe would be a weight off his shoulders. He could relax. The kidnappings were over, and Kilgrave was still very much dead after all. The future looked bright.

He exhaled. "A trip?"

"Anywhen, anywhere," the Doctor promised, beaming. "Another planet in the past, or Earth in the future. Anything you'd like."

Malcolm had no hopes of containing his smile. It spread across his face, easy and hopeful. "Surprise me," he said.

"Finish your tea!" the Doctor commanded. "Then we'll be off!" Truly, the second Malcolm had downed the last of his drink, the Doctor was up out of his seat and headed out the door. Malcolm followed him through the impossible alien hallways of the ship, back to the console room where the others waited for their return.

Expectant eyes turned on them the moment they entered the room. The Doctor announced, "Everyone, please welcome Malcolm on board!" and surprised happiness spread like a bad cold throughout the room. Even Jessica smiled, wider than Malcolm had ever seen on her face before.

"Go easy on him," Trish grinned. "No running."

The Doctor nearly pouted. "A little running?"

"A little probably won't hurt," Luke put in, smirking. Amy grinned at him. Rory again had that sympathetic smile.

Malcolm wondered what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

The Doctor started typing on a typewriter that he'd somehow attached to the console. "I'll just set some parameters," he said. "So we don't accidentally end up involved in the collapse of a violent monarchy." He paused, fingers stuttering to a halt. "Again." Before Malcolm could open his mouth to question this, the Doctor had moved on, pressing buttons and talking like if he didn't speak fast enough he might run out of time. And then, he pulled a giant lever, and the entire ship rattled.

Malcolm laughed.

* * *

On their walk back to the TARDIS, through the beautiful wild forests of the planet, Malcolm fell into step beside Jessica.

"You seem happy," he said, too relieved and relaxed to bother with preamble or small talk.

She gave him a suspicious look. Then she turned her eyes back down to the forest floor and kicked at a stray blue branch. "I guess I am," she allowed. A few yards up ahead, the Doctor's voice carried as he enthusiastically explained something about the wildlife to Luke, Trish, and Amy and Rory, who everyone called "the Ponds" more frequently than anything else. Jack and Ianto had stayed behind in the ship, to do what the Doctor described as "couply things" with a mock-disgusted turn of the mouth

"Seriously," Malcolm pressed. "Like. Actually happy. I couldn't believe it."

She elbowed him. The only way Malcolm was able to tell that she wasn't angry was by the fact that she put no real strength behind the jab. "Shut up. You know I'm always a fucking delight."

Malcolm ducked his head, grinning. "Oh, right. How could I forget?"

They fell into a friendly silence again. The Doctor tripped, and Luke's responding laugh echoed through the trees. A smile flickered at Jessica's lips.

"I know you don't want to talk about it," Malcolm continued, hesitantly, "but are you getting some kind of help, Jessica?" At her glare, he added, "I'm asking as a friend. The only way you'll ever be truly happy is if you deal with what happened."

She sighed. Her eyes dropped from his. "Jesus, Malcolm, I know. I'm an adult with common sense. And a bunch of people getting on my ass about my mental health." Although she sounded bitter, her mouth quirked up a little once more.

Malcolm was still caught up with the fact that she'd _agreed_ with him. Just a few weeks ago, if he had proposed her trying to go to the Kilgrave group one more time she probably would have thrown him out of her window. Before he could tack on a follow-up question, Jessica was already talking, to his shock.

"I might consider looking into something, or whatever. When I go home." It sounded like a confession. She kicked at the ground again. "Maybe. I'm not making any promises. And I'm talking about _considering_ looking into. Doesn't mean I'm actually going to do it. "

Malcolm could be satisfied with 'maybe.' "What's with the sudden change of heart?" he had to ask.

Jessica cast a significant glance ahead of them, and nodded in the Doctor's direction specifically. He was up again, gesturing as he explained something to his audience of two. "The Doctor was kind of fucked up," she said. At Malcolm's questioning look, she elaborated, "He let us keep him locked in a tiny apartment for a month because he honestly thought he was damaged enough to turn into Kilgrave at some point in his future."

Yeah, that was pretty damning, if nothing else. Malcolm nodded, with an empathetic wince. "I kind of thought the same thing," he admitted.

"But it's not just that," Jessica went on, quieter. "You weren't there, toward the end of the whole...not-Kilgrave thing. He got drugged by the kidnappers, and Claire came to make sure he wasn't dying, and immediately after she laid eyes on him she told us he was starving himself to death, basically."

Malcolm almost stopped walking. As it was, his steps lost their rhythm, and he very nearly stumbled as he tried to regain speed. "What?" He looked ahead, where Trish was responding to something the Doctor had said, half-laughing as she did so. Even from behind it was clear that Luke was grinning. The Doctor jumped in place as he walked, nothing but excited and energetic and healthy. Malcolm thought back to Jessica's apartment, to Kilgrave's thin figure and pale face, and frowned.

"So, not only did he let himself be locked in a tiny apartment," Jessica said, "but he also wouldn't eat, and wouldn't sleep, and, you know, smashed a bunch of glass in my kitchen." She grimaced.

"He looks happy enough now," Malcolm pointed out.

"Yeah," Jessica agreed. "It's not about now, he's basically a different person. It's about then. He started lecturing me about 'help' or whatever, too, and I figured if the guy who had so many issues that he imprisoned himself and denied himself basic life necessities for a month is giving me shit about not taking care of myself I should consider thinking about it." She kicked another stick.

Malcolm nodded. "Yeah, I'd say so."

Jessica swallowed. "Uh. You seem okay, too."

"I was worried about you," Malcolm confessed. "But now that I know you guys are all okay, I can relax."

Jessica sighed. "You're a good person, Malcolm. I don't think people tell you that."

A sudden tightness took over Malcolm's chest, and he struggled to get the right words out. "They don't really anymore. Not since…"

It only took a shake of the head from Jessica for Malcolm to gratefully cut himself off. "I get it," she said. "Everyone looks down on addicts, no matter what the situation is. I've seen it enough times."

"I could be clean 80 years, and all people would care about is that at one point, I wasn't," Malcolm told her. He was surprised by the anger in his own voice. "No one even seems to respect how difficult it is, day by day."

"I'm sorry, Malcolm," Jessica said, as rough as she'd said it the very first time.

Malcolm almost laughed. "You can't change people, Jessica. And it's not your fault in the first place. We have this discussion every time we see each other."

"It doesn't make me less sorry," Jessica insisted, not quite angry. "Just accept the damn apology."

"Fine," Malcolm sighed. "Thank you."

Someone cleared their throat up ahead. Malcolm raised his head to see the Doctor, a few feet in front of them, waiting expectantly. The TARDIS sat nearby, half-hidden by trees and foliage. Trish, Luke, and the Ponds were gone. "This doesn't sound like a vacation-appropriate conversation," the Doctor announced.

"Amy was right," Jessica said back. Immediately, the Doctor frowned at her. "You _are_ allergic to feelings," Jessica finished, smugly.

The Doctor huffed. His eyebrows drew together suspiciously. "You two. Colluding. I knew you'd be trouble. I can't _believe_ she's been repeating that. She thinks she's being clever." He pointed at her. "You're one to talk, anyway, Jessica Jones. I've never met anyone as stubborn as you."

"Glass houses and stones, or something like that," Jessica said.

"Ignoring you," the Doctor sing-songed. He turned to Malcolm, expression changing entirely. To happiness, hope. "Have you had a good trip, Ducasse?"

Malcolm smiled. Around them, the forest sung with alien life. The air was cool and almost sweet. It was nothing like he could have imagined. "Yeah," he said. "I have. Thank you."

The Doctor's face softened - toeing the edge of sadness, but not quite reaching it. "Ready to go home?"

Malcolm imagined saying no. Jessica had told him how the Doctor had originally planned to take them all on one trip, and had instead spirited them off for several weeks. If Malcolm said no, the Doctor would probably welcome him on board happily, despite the past that lingered between them all. It was in his eyes, something like a warm and hopeful glint.

"Yeah," he admitted. His smile twisted into wryness and apology. "I think I am."

Despite whatever hopes he may have had, the Doctor only nodded, the smile unchanging. "Then I'll take you home."

"The same day," Jessica snarked. "He has a job he has to get to."

The Doctor opened the TARDIS doors. "Tell it to the TARDIS, not me. _I_ put in the correct date." As they entered the ship, the floor beneath them rumbled ominously. "Sorry, dear," the Doctor mumbled. He ran a hand tenderly along the railing as he jumped up the stairs to the console.

Malcolm decided not to ask. Instead, he joined Trish on the jumpseat, while Luke and Jessica exchanged a few quiet words at the bottom of the steps. Amy and Rory hovered around the console, watching.

"Going home?" Amy asked. Malcolm didn't know her well enough to be certain, but he thought she sounded a little disappointed.

"I think I should."

Trish gave him a gentle smile. "We'll see you soon," she promised, nudging his shoulder with her own.

"Assuming the Doctor can get us there on time," Amy said.

"I can hear you," the Doctor informed her, over the clicking of typewriter keys.

"It's a fair criticism," Malcolm pointed out. Rory nodded approvingly at him. Amy grinned. Trish shook her head.

"I will turn this ship around," the Doctor threatened. But he smiled.

Malcolm gave one last, lingering look around the console room as the Doctor took off, and the ship shook under them all. And then, as they landed, he gave Trish a hug. Once the ship had settled, he bid the Ponds goodbye and descended the steps to give Jessica a one-armed hug, one he knew she'd be more comfortable with. He shook Luke's hand, clapped him on the shoulder.

And he stepped back into his dingy apartment, as dark and empty as he'd left it, the only light coming from the open TARDIS doors. He turned to face the Doctor, who hovered in the doorway.

He opened his mouth to say goodbye, but before he could form any kind of sound, the Doctor stepped out, and closed the doors behind him, plunging them into near-darkness but for the TARDIS windows.

"Is everything okay?" Malcolm asked. Ice preemptively wedged itself into his chest.

The Doctor spun back around, only slightly subdued. "Everything is absolutely fine," he promised. "I just want to talk. For a bit. Not long."

That didn't sound like 'fine' to Malcolm, but he acquiesced. The Doctor flopped down on his couch with a sigh. Hesitantly, Malcolm joined him.

"What did you do before Kilgrave got you?" the Doctor asked. He idly cracked his knuckles in his lap as he spoke.

"I was a social worker," Malcolm said. It felt so far away, although he knew it had only been a year or two prior. It had been an entirely different life. A decent apartment. Plenty of food on the table. A rewarding job. His eyes stung just thinking about it.

The Doctor nodded. "Good work. Hard work." Malcolm shrugged. The Doctor sat up, and rearranged himself on the couch in order to properly face Malcolm. Malcolm looked into his eyes, and found a seriousness there he hadn't seen before. "I imagine you were good at it, weren't you?"

"Um." Malcolm blinked. Where was he going with this? "I was pretty average, probably. It's been awhile, I couldn't...say for sure."

The Doctor considered him. "Do you think you could go back to it? Would you feel prepared?"

Malcolm almost laughed. "I can't just start up where I left off, Doctor," he said, hardly caring about the bitterness he could hear in his own voice. "After you go off the rails and start shooting up, they tend not to want you around vulnerable people."

"But it wasn't your fault," the Doctor reasoned. "I wouldn't say so much that you went off the rails as that you were pushed. But listen - the question is not whether you would be _allowed_ to go back. The question is do you think that you _could?_ Emotionally, mentally, what have you."

"I'd like to," Malcolm confessed. It wasn't something he'd allowed himself to think about. He felt like he'd left that life behind pretty much in its entirety, probably never to return to it again. Contemplating what might have been, what _should_ have been was too painful most of the time - even now, he could feel a lump rising in his throat.

The Doctor smiled, soft and genuine. "That's the first step, isn't it? If you want to do it, I believe you can."

Malcolm swallowed. He started to say, again, "It's not that simple," but trailed off of his own accord as the Doctor reached into his jacket pocket and handed over a scrap of paper. In blue pen, there was a phone number, and the word UNIT.

"Call them and tell them you're a social worker, and that I sent you to them," the Doctor instructed. "They might have a job offer for you."

Malcolm froze. "I...you're...serious?"

"Very serious," the Doctor confirmed. He stood, and Malcolm felt that he had little choice but to follow along. "I'm positive you were brilliant, Malcolm. Just go for it, eh? They're looking for some nice, open-minded types, most likely. I think you fit the bill just fine."

Malcolm could only blink and stutter, "Thank you."

The Doctor reached out and squeezed his shoulders. "I hope I'll see you again." His smile grew. "Be amazing."

It was so abrupt. Malcolm almost protested for the shock of it all. "I'll try. I will be."

"That's the spirit. Geronimo, Ducasse." With one last jaunty smile, the Doctor opened the TARDIS doors and slipped inside.

Seconds later, Malcolm stood alone in his apartment again, the paper clutched in his hand like it might somehow bring the ship back if he focused hard enough.

Instead of lingering, however, he forced himself to trudge over to get his phone.

* * *

 **Long time no see, guys!**

 **I'm so incredibly sorry for the long, unexplained hiatus. This story was giving me absolute hell, on top of real life stuff and my unrelenting plot bunnies for other stories. School and trying to keep my head above the water in general kind of ate my life lol.**

 **But! I finally worked out what was wrong in the middle chapters, and although I'm not entirely happy with it, I think it's good enough to post, after I do a little more cutting and editing. I appreciate those of you who have stuck with this story, and although I haven't responded to comments, know that I've seen them and been warmed by them, and it's the main reason I'm updating today.**

 **This chapter was fun to write when I first made it ages ago, and it was fun to read and edit again today. I hope you enjoy it, anyone who's been holding out for an update! Thank you for your absolutely incredible patience.**

 **I intend to update again in a couple of weeks. I'll see you all then! 3**


	8. Vacation

**Chapter 8: Vacation**

Claire wasn't sure how she kept getting herself into these kinds of situations. Maybe she just had bad luck.

Either way, she had to admit that most of her involvement was entirely her own fault. If she saw someone hurt, she couldn't keep herself from helping them without facing a barrage of guilt. If someone asked for help, she couldn't, in good conscience, say no.

And if someone landed a blue box in her living room in the middle of the night, bringing with him the friends who had been missing for almost two days, safe and sound, and invited her to go on an impossible vacation, she couldn't refuse.

He'd claimed it would be a vacation, anyway. She should have known better. Of _course_ nothing could ever go as planned in her life.

So she couldn't help but thinking that maybe she should have _somehow_ expected this: bolting down the narrow hallways of a grimy, secret alien prison, attempting to outrun a troop of angry alien guards.

Luke brought up the rear, shielding the less bulletproof members of their group from the shots currently ringing around them, against the stone. Claire was pretty sure she heard one fly right by her ear, only narrowly missing Jessica in front of her. Fortunately, she didn't think they were like Earth bullets. According to the Doctor, these were far less deadly, typically. Although they were supposedly painful.

"I hate guns!" the Doctor announced. "Stairs, up ahead, almost out-"

Claire could hardly hear him over the scream of gunfire, and her own blood rushing in her ears, and she could hardly focus around the burning of every muscle in her body. Ahead of her, Ianto stumbled, almost taking Jack with him, and Jessica half-pulled them along behind her until they caught their footing again. It looked practiced, routine. Claire had to wonder exactly how often they'd done this.

The second she emerged into the sweet-tasting air, her knees tried to give out on her. She was only able to hold herself up through sheer force of will, despite the relief that overwhelmed her.

Luke slammed the thick metal door behind them, and almost immediately Claire heard bullets ringing against it. The Doctor buzzed his weird green tool at the door, and it clicked. Locked, so it seemed.

"If they've torn holes in my jacket, I will personally destroy each of those guns with my bare hands," he declared, shoving his door-locking gadget back into a pocket. "Come along, we've only got a few minutes until they find a key and burst out to shoot at us again."

"Where the hell are we supposed to go?" Jessica demanded, panting. The Doctor brushed past her, leading the way. Among groans of pain and dissatisfaction, everyone else followed.

"We have to tell the prime minister about the state of affairs in his planet's underground bunkers," the Doctor called over his shoulder. Infuriatingly, he hardly sounded out of breath. "I don't think he'll be pleased to hear about the excess of imprisoning harmless tourists."

"What makes you think he doesn't know about it already?" Luke pointed out.

"That would make things rather messy," the Doctor said, far more lightly than the situation called for. "I don't think that's the case, as he's known for being hospitable to off-world visitors, but if it is then we'll just have to deal with it, won't we?"

"This was supposed to be a vacation," Jessica reminded him. "Claire just wanted to relax on a beach, and drink, and _not_ do whatever the hell this is." They escaped into the tree cover of a nearby wooded area just as the door slammed open, and the stomp of boot-clad feet hit the turquoise-colored grass far behind them.

Yeah, a vacation would have been nice. But, in all fairness, it wasn't everyday that you got to bust out of alien prison and talk to an alien prime minister. Maybe the situation as a whole was less than ideal, but who else could say they'd done what Claire was doing right now? It was almost fun, in a terrifying sort of way.

The Doctor held a finger to his lips, and picked up the pace. With a muted sigh, Claire forced her aching legs to move faster. Viney alien undergrowth clogged what might have once been a path, but she was motivated to keep moving, despite her difficulties, by the sound of voices shouting at the entrance to the forest.

"Doctor," Jack said. His voice bounced eerily among the trees, loud in defiance of his attempted whisper.

"Shh!" the Doctor ordered. Again, he seemed to move a little bit faster. Claire half-leaped over a fallen log, and then immediately nearly tripped over a cluster of those strange, pale orange and blue vines that dominated the forest floor. Trish wasn't as lucky, and her foot tangled in them, only freed after a barrage of breathy swearing and scratching of leather.

Strangely, Claire could no longer hear the shouts of the guards behind them.

"They're not going to follow us," Jack continued, louder. "Doctor."

The Doctor stopped in his tracks, nearly causing Ianto to hit him, and fully spun around in order to properly glare. " _What_ , Jack?"

"This is Wegran's Fever," Jack said. He sounded so grim that Claire tensed on instinct.

"No, it's _not_ ," the Doctor said back, impatiently. Claire had never heard him be anything other than confused, tired, or slightly frustrated in the short time that she'd known him, and not really anything but cheerful or intrigued since she'd met this new version of him and learned the reality of what had happened at Jessica's, so it was almost a shock to hear the bite of exasperation in his voice. "Wegran's Fever has dark red vines."

"That's Wegran's Root," Jack told him. "Which is only found in tropical forests." He gestured to the trees around them, which were much like the deciduous trees native to the forests of New York.

The Doctor frowned. "If it was Wegran's Fever, we'd already know," he argued. "Someone would have started showing symptoms upon first contact. And, as you can see, there's plenty to be accidentally, er, _contacted_." He kicked lightly at a patch of vines to his right, while at the same time leaning a hand against a vine-covered tree to his left.

"Don't do what he just did," Jack announced to the rest of them, more loudly than was strictly necessary. Pointing at the Doctor, he gave each of the others present a look. It struck Claire as _wildly concerned_ , which did nothing to strengthen her confidences. "Don't touch it, don't get stuck in it, don't even _look_ at it for too long, okay?"

"What the hell is it?" Jessica asked.

"It's Wegran's Root," the Doctor insisted.

"It's Wegran's Fever," Jack said, before the Doctor had even finished his sentence. "It's known for causing intense physical hallucinations, and a fever, hence the name. It won't kill you, but it's not pleasant. Which is why those guards didn't follow us. They know better." He glared at the Doctor, who remained defiantly in position. "You know I'm right, Doctor - I used to come to these parts all the time. You're only here, what, once every couple of decades? Max?"

Claire shook her head. "What kind of plant causes that? Wouldn't you have to ingest it for those kinds of symptoms?"

Jack inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Normally, yes. But think of it sort of like poison ivy or oak or sumac - it has an invisible oil on the leaves and vines. If you get that oil in your bloodstream, it can get ugly. The thing about Wegran's Fever is that its oil diffuses straight through the skin. It's used as a weapon in some parts of the universe, for non-deadly force."

The Doctor scratched at his cheek, scowling. "You make it sound so dramatic. You're scaring my companions for no reason, Jack Harkness."

Jack sighed. "Look, if you don't want to believe me, that's fine. Just, to be safe, don't touch it, guys, okay?"

"I already kind of touched it," Trish blurted. She held her hands slightly away from her, her face pinched as if she was trying not to panic. "I got stuck, and I had to pull it off."

Jack closed his eyes. "Well, shit."

"It's not Wegran's Fever," the Doctor assured her. He pushed off the tree, adjusted his jacket. "Jack's trying to help, but he's wrong."

Claire didn't know what was normal for the Doctor, physiologically speaking, but she was pretty sure his cheeks hadn't been that pink a few minutes ago. And a glance at Trish revealed a similar situation, in addition to eyes that, in an examination, Claire might have called fever-bright.

"I don't know," Trish argued, "I feel kind of...itchy. And hot."

"It's a little toasty," the Doctor said. "Warm forest."

"I would argue that it's chilly," Jessica informed them. Claire knew her well enough to recognize the harshness of her voice as worry.

"Doctor, I know you're a genius, but you're also one of the stupidest people I know," Jack said. He didn't even really sound angry; more resigned than anything else.

The Doctor scowled. "Oi! What's that supposed to mean?"

Claire took Trish gently by the shoulders. "Let's get out of here," she said, putting on her authoritative-nurse voice. "We can talk about how stupid we all are later."

The Doctor straightened, brightening up, and pointed at her. "You're a nurse!" he said. "Tell me, do I look feverish to you?"

Claire stared at him, right in the eyes, and snapped, "Yes. _Walk_."

His mouth popped open in outrage, but before he could summon an argument, Jessica had stomped over and grabbed an arm to drag him along with her as she walked.

"Should we touch them, if they've got that oil on them?" Ianto piped up, nervously, once they'd gotten moving again.

"Wegran's Fever isn't really all that much like poison ivy," the Doctor said. "It's a handy comparison, but not entirely accurate. Once the oil is removed from the leaves or vines it's neutralized, unless it touches skin. And then it's immediately absorbed, so even after someone has had direct contact with it there's no need to worry for yourself. So no need to burn your clothes because Jack's afraid of the plants."

"Looks to me like he's right to be afraid," Luke snarked.

Under her hands, Claire felt Trish shudder. "What's wrong?"

"It's starting to feel like there are bugs crawling on me," Trish sighed. Louder, she said, "I think Jack's right, Doctor. Stop being stubborn." Claire couldn't help but think that she looked like shit. Pale, underneath the flush to her cheeks. Sweating ever so slightly. A little too shaky. She was almost impressed at how quickly the symptoms had appeared.

"Really?" the Doctor tried to turn around to look at her, but in the process almost fell over another scattering of vines. Jessica had to lift him up entirely to get him standing properly again. In the process, however, the Doctor apparently got a chance to see Trish, and whatever he saw seemed to convince him. Claire watched his face fall as Jessica turned him forcefully to face front again.

"We can still go talk to the prime minister, though," he said. "I can do it. I'm fine."

"Uh-huh," Jack said. He didn't even pretend to believe it.

"We can negotiate that once we get back to the TARDIS," Claire decided, still in her nurse-voice. It usually calmed people down, or at the very least got them to slow down and listen to her for a second.

The Doctor threw her a squinty-eyed look over his shoulder that clearly communicated that he _knew_ what she was doing, but that didn't seem to stop it from working all the same. Claire smiled thinly, harmlessly, back at him.

"It's probably only a few miles," Luke reasoned. "That's not too far."

"Maybe we should get out of this forest," Ianto piped up. "Save ourselves the trouble."

"That'll put us out in the open," the Doctor argued. "We shouldn't leave until we absolutely have to. Who knows, maybe our guard friends are patrolling the outer edges of the forest waiting for us to come stumbling out."

Jessica groaned. "I hate that you aren't wrong."

"I rarely am."

Jack scoffed.

Trish was concerningly silent, and Claire tightened her grip on the other woman's arms. "Okay there?"

After a pained exhale, Trish nodded. "Fine." She didn't sound it, but Claire had no idea what to do about it. It sounded like they'd simply have to wait it out. Maybe, once they got to the Doctor's ship, there was something she could do to make Trish more comfortable. Sedate her, or counter the effects of the plant with another medication. Maybe over-hydrating her could flush out the toxins a little bit faster.

Claire hated being helpless like this.

For awhile, though, it seemed like maybe the progression of the illness had stopped. Trish was able to walk without trouble, and although she was still visibly feverish she didn't seem worse off than earlier. They all stepped carefully over vines, and avoided getting too close to any other undergrowth just in case. The Doctor continued talking as if nothing was wrong, delving enthusiastically into the politics of the planet although no one had asked. Only Luke occasionally pitched in, asking the odd question, which thrilled the Doctor to no end. The rest of them walked in near-silence, listening, and, in Claire's case, keeping an eye on her patients.

She began to think Jack had been exaggerating a little bit. Trish and the Doctor still seemed fine, even after walking nearly two miles. Tired, in Trish's case, but Claire couldn't exactly say that she was full of energy, either. The Doctor was the only one of them apparently unaffected by the journey, as he was still walking with a spring in his step.

Claire's only warning that the relative ease of the moment was about to fall was Trish's tiny stumble. It was just that - tiny. Hardly noticeable. If she hadn't already been sick, Claire wouldn't have paid it much attention at all. However, given the situation, Claire took at second look as Trish righted herself, and felt her heart leap into her throat.

Her eyes had gone glassy and unfocused, and Claire knew that they were out of time.

"Stop!" she ordered. "Everyone, stop!" Their little party ground to a stuttering halt, and everyone turned to look back at Claire in confusion. Most of that confusion faded, however, as they all laid eyes on Trish, who had begun to sway a little despite Claire's support on her arms.

Jessica left the Doctor's side to rush to Trish's, letting the other woman lean into her and take some of the weight off of Claire.

"Oh, not good," the Doctor said.

"Believe me now?" Jack snapped. The Doctor scowled.

Claire gently nudged Jessica aside to give Trish a more thorough once-over. With a little prodding, Trish eventually focused on her, and even gave a watery smile. However, within moments she seemed practically unable to support herself, and Jessica had to hold her upright while Claire finished her quick examination. Trish's heart was a little too fast, and her skin was hot to the touch. She kept doing that shudder from earlier, apparently still feeling the nonexistent bugs all over her skin, and she had trouble listening to Claire's questions or directions after a little while.

"I feel like I'm being poked with a thousand needles," she said, when Claire requested some description of her symptoms. "And I'm tired."

"We've got to be close now," Luke assured. "Right?"

"Maybe another mile," the Doctor guessed. "Not much farther." He seemed a little _too_ fine, but Claire wasn't going to press the issue. Not when Trish so obviously wasn't.

"Let's keep moving," Claire said. "Jessica, if you carry Trish we can get to the ship sooner." Without hesitation, Jessica transferred Trish to a fireman's carry, and gestured impatiently for them to start walking. Trish grumbled a few token protests, but soon went suspiciously silent.

They walked.

Claire's entire body ached. It became harder and harder to dodge the patches of Wegran's Fever in their path, and as they marched along it only became more frequent. They walked through a stretch of forest where the entire forest floor was layered with it, impossible to avoid. Sure, the Doctor had claimed it wouldn't linger on their clothes, but he'd also claimed it was something entirely different, and so Claire was appropriately pessimistic.

By the time the Doctor started accidentally wandering off the path, the trees had begun to thin, and Claire thought she could see the distinctive blue of the ship on the horizon.

Everyone else was preoccupied with their own exhaustion, or maybe the Doctor unexpectedly veering off in another direction was just normal. Whatever the case was, no one stopped him. Claire, however, was a little more suspicious, and she forced her half-numb feet to a light jog to catch up with him. Just in time, too - she grabbed his arm to catch his attention just before he hit a vine-covered tree, and managed to keep him from touching it.

"Whoa there," she said as she turned him to face her. Even without an announcement, everybody slowed around them, and she stopped hearing the sound of feet hitting the ground. The Doctor gave her a confused look, much like the one that Trish had given her not twenty minutes earlier, and the weak smile that followed did little to stop the comparisons there.

"I'm okay," he told her, but he was leaning into her nonetheless.

She decided to go along with it, figuring maybe he might cooperate more if she pretended to believe him. It had worked with stubborn patients before. And he looked confused enough, judging by her cursory examination, that he might be more inclined than usual to believe her act. "Okay," she allowed. "We're almost there. Maybe I'll walk with you anyway. It'll make me feel better," she added, just as he frowned.

To her relief, the frown dropped, and he gave her another of those little smiles. "If you want to."

Claire led him back to join the others, keeping her touch light on his arm to lend the impression that he was leading her instead. She continued to keep him on track as they trekked the last few yards to the ship. Now that she was touching him, she could feel him shuddering like Trish had, although his were more like tremors than anything else.

Behind them, Trish hiccuped a sort of sob that had Claire's insides clenching.

"Shit," Jessica said, loud enough that the rest of them stopped once more.

Claire squeezed the Doctor's arm. "I'll be back," she told him. "Stay here with Luke."

Hearing her words, Luke stepped forward to take her place. Ianto and Jack hovered nearby, both wearing nearly identical worried frowns.

Jessica had already lowered Trish down by the time Claire made it over to them. Not completely to the floor, as vines still appeared here and there, but to an unstable standing position. Probably uncomfortable, but it would do for Claire's purposes.

"Trish," she said, taking Trish's too-warm face in her hands. "Tell me what's wrong."

Trish hiccuped again, and a tear spilled free from her eye. And Claire knew Trish well enough to know that this was a very bad sign. "Hurts," she grit out through clenched teeth.

"How?" Claire pressed.

Trish just shook her head.

"There's nothing we can do," Jessica snapped. "Let's just get to the TARDIS."

Claire nodded her agreement. "We might be able to help her there," she said. "Sedate her to help her sleep, at least." Jessica inclined her head sharply, not quite a nod back. Claire hung back with Jessica and Trish, allowing Luke to take charge up ahead, and they stumbled the last leg of their journey.

It took several moments for the Doctor to get his key and open the doors, and a lot of anxiety-inducing fumbling, but they all made it inside without further incident. Claire was all too relieved to have the doors closed behind them, separating them from more misfortune.

"I have a med bay," the Doctor said, without prompting. He'd left Luke's side to head for the back of the console room, where Claire presumed more rooms awaited. She followed close behind, with the others trailing tiredly along.

Under other circumstances, she might have enjoyed their trek through the ship's hallways - they were alien enough to be awe-inspiring, and so long and winding that she was impressed by the impracticality despite herself. With their situation, though, she didn't have time to properly appreciate them. The moment the Doctor led her into a room, she forgot about them entirely.

It looked like a hospital - a tiny one, condensed into a single room. She saw five beds, sterile and white, lined up against the far wall; what looked like an MRI machine in the corner; a corner full of cupboards and counters and drawers off to their immediate left; and an examination table to their right. Claire headed straight to the left, hurriedly opening cupboards and digging through drawers.

"What do you need?" the Doctor asked, unexpectedly close.

"I'm thinking sedation is best," Claire told him. "You two can sleep through the worst of it. There's nothing else I can think to do."

He opened a drawer she'd already rifled through, and produced a syringe and a bottle of some clear substance scrawled on with alien letters. "Ta-da!" he said, with a grin. "I can be organized."

"Is that safe?" Claire double-checked. He was visibly ill, cloudy-eyed and flushed, and he swayed a little too much for her comfort.

"Oh, completely," he assured her. "Small dose only, though."

Claire decided to trust him, for a lack of anything else, and accepted the materials, taking the time to also grab a second syringe from the drawer. Jessica had already set Trish up on one of the beds, fortunately, so that part was done. Claire grabbed the Doctor's arm with her free hand, despite his protests, and pulled him unsteadily toward one of the beds neighboring Trish's.

"Sit," she ordered, while he eyed her unhappily. It only took a couple moments of glaring for him to listen, and hop up with surprising agility to perch on the edge of the mattress, legs swinging over the side. It would do. Claire plucked the syringe off the bedside table, and began to prep Trish's makeshift treatment.

Turning, she found Jessica half-holding Trish upright, attempting to get the other woman to lie down. Trish was putting up a decent fight, despite her fever-induced weakness and Jessica's inhuman strength. It helped that Jessica was afraid of doing further damage, but judging by the exasperation on her face, Trish's time of clumsily pushing away Jessica's hands with any form of dignity was running out.

"Trish," Claire said, with more patience than she'd probably ever felt in her life. "Can you please lie down?"

"Why?" Trish asked. She seemed genuinely confused, which only served to twist Claire's stomach in worry. And although she wasn't crying anymore, there were lines of stress on her face that had Claire wincing sympathetically.

Claire finished prepping the needle. "I'm going to help you go to sleep, okay? When you wake up, you should feel much better."

Trish's face smoothed, just slightly. "That's...probably a good idea."

Jessica took the opportunity to lift Trish clear off the bed and lie her flat. Trish made a pained sort of sound, hard enough to listen to that Jessica's jaw visibly clenched. Claire, fortunately, was a little more used to cries of pain, but that didn't stop her biting the inside of her cheek. "Hold still," she ordered. "Small poke." Claire couldn't help but be relieved that Trish didn't flinch, though that spoke volumes about the rest of the pain she was probably experiencing. With the sedative administered, Claire discarded the syringe and took a deep breath.

"I'll be here when you wake up," Jessica promised. She hastily pulled up a chair to sit properly at Trish's bedside. Not that it made much difference, as Trish was already closing her eyes, and within moments would be dead to the world.

As Claire watched her relax, she was finally able to relax a little herself. Her first priority had been dealt with. She wasn't expecting the Doctor to cause too much trouble - he was stubborn and dismissive, but he also didn't seem to be feeling the effects of the plant as intensely as Trish, and he at least now seemed to understand the severity of their situation.

So as she prepared the next needle, assuming he'd rather be sedated as well, she wasn't expecting Jack to call, "Doctor, where are you going?"

Claire turned just in time to see him disappear out the door, with Luke halfway across the room, clearly intending to follow. The moment Luke stepped into the hall, however, he stopped cold, glancing around. Claire watched his shoulders tense, and her stomach clenched.

"Stay here with Trish," she told Jessica, who scowled like she wanted to argue, but clearly also knew better than to leave Trish's side.

"He's gone," Luke explained as she joined him. Jack was right behind her, with Ianto tagging nervously along. "There's no way he could have managed to get out of my line of sight that fast by himself."

"The TARDIS must be helping him," Jack determined, bewildered.

Luke shrugged. "I don't know why she would, but there must be a reason."

Right. The ship was alive. Trish had mentioned that.

Right on cue, the lights overhead flickered, and Claire felt a vibration in the floor. It sounded suspiciously like a verification. In other circumstances, she would have been spooked, but she didn't feel at the moment like she could afford to let the creepiness hold her back.

"I think we can take that as a yes," Luke said.

"We can't let him get too far," Claire decided. "He can only get worse from here."

"Jessica and I can hold down the fort here, while the rest of you go searching," Ianto offered. "He's probably just looking for something."

Jack very nearly smiled. "You could be right."

Claire hoped that was the case, but she had her doubts. "Even so, we shouldn't leave him on his own. It'll be faster if we split up," she said. "Meet back here in twenty minutes, whether you've found him or no."

"Well, I saw him turn that way," Luke said, pointing to their left. "We'll all start off going that direction, and branch off from there?"

Jack nodded. "We'll be back soon," he promised Ianto. Then, with a grin, "Don't wander off."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Go on, then."

Claire, despite the situation, was a little warmed by the interaction. Things would probably be fine, anyway, she tried to assure herself. The Doctor was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. Maybe Ianto was right after all, she thought as they headed off. He was probably going off to get water or something, and was totally fine.

The moment they all separated though, she felt a lot less certain.

The hallways were wide, and a little too dark to feel totally safe on one's own. She could still hear Luke and Jack's footsteps echoing creepily against the metal, to boot. Nonetheless, Claire straightened her back and walked, looking for some sign of a trail.

It didn't take long.

The moment the footsteps faded entirely from her hearing, a light at the far end of the hall flickered - fast and steady. It looked eerily, heart-stoppingly intentional. Claire bit her tongue, hard. And then she approached it.

She stopped underneath the light, sweaty-palmed and more unsteady than she would ever admit to anyone. Not a moment later, it stopped its flickering, and another light further down started.

After a moment of debating to herself, Claire sighed. "Why lead me, and not Jack or Luke?" she asked the ceiling. It felt crazy, but, in all fairness, she'd done things that were arguably much crazier. "I mean...I've only been here a day. A little too soon to be picking favorites, isn't it?"

The whole hallway hummed. It wasn't like before, where she couldn't hear anything, could only feel the vibration in her bones. This was a sound - a rich, resonating hum, like machinery warming up for work. The new light's flickering increased in frequency.

Claire supposed this was the closest to "come along" that a sentient timeship could get.

"Okay," she said, almost more to herself. "I'm coming."

The lights led her merrily along, around corners and even through rooms. Until, at last, they lit up an entire doorway - an open one, one that glowed with a familiar orange. Before she'd even entered, Claire knew it was the console room.

And she knew, with a sinking stomach, what she would find there.

It was as bright and strange as when she'd first seen it, but it was now completely empty. She listened for some sign that the Doctor was below the platform, or hiding somewhere, and looked for a flash of tweed, but found nothing.

As she hesitantly descended the steps to stand by the panel of controls, she heard a loud _click_.

She glanced to the blue doors, and found that one of them had cracked open, seemingly of its own accord.

Claire closed her eyes, and forcefully tempered her rage. "I dared to think he was sensible enough to not wander off in a fever-induced haze, but maybe that makes me the stupid one here," she sighed. Upon regaining the courage to look again, she found that the door's opening had widened.

There couldn't be a clearer invitation.

"Okay," she told the ship. "Okay, I get it." She wrapped a hand around the nearest railing, until her knuckles whitened and it hurt. Then, she released it and shook her head exasperatedly. "I just want to know how the hell it is that _I'm_ always the one who keeps having to take care of crazy hero-types."

The TARDIS hummed. It sounded like encouragement.

Claire took another breath, and then walked. Away from the console, down the steps, and out the doors. The moment she was clear of them, stepping back onto the planet's strange blue-green grass, they closed behind her, and locked again.

She looked down, and found clear imprints in the grass and undergrowth leading the rest of the way out of the forest.

She was starting to get an idea of what the Doctor was intending to do.

"I'm going to kill him," she declared, and set off.

* * *

 **Not 100% happy with this chapter, but better that it's up! :) Pardon the late night update. Part 2 in a couple of weeks!**


	9. Vacation Part 2

**Chapter 9: Vacation Part 2**

Claire walked for twenty minutes on her aching, protesting feet, cursing the Doctor and herself and the TARDIS for leading her out here, and the prime minister for not keeping an eye on the affairs of his own planet, and the Wegran's Fever and it's audacity in growing where it had, and everything else she could think of.

She couldn't deny that she was relieved when she at last broke free of the forest, and finally saw a familiar tweed coat in the distance, but she also became a _lot_ angrier, with worry no longer dominating her thoughts.

With her goal in sight, she managed to quicken the pace, and advanced on her unsuspecting target with a speed that impressed even herself. He was walking unsteadily, half-unbalanced, apparently completely oblivious to her presence directly behind him.

Maybe it was mean, but Claire took pleasure in startling him as she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt.

He yelped, and tried to yank free, but years of experience with sometimes-violent patients made Claire fully capable of hanging on.

"Doctor, it's me," she said. "Claire."

He stilled. And then squinted at her, as if trying to see a resemblance. It reminded her sharply, abruptly, of how Kilgrave - or, the Doctor himself, she corrected - had peered at her while sitting on Jessica's bed, trying to pick out features despite his blurry vision. It was strange to find such a concrete, visible connection between the two of them, although she _knew_ that they were the same now. It made her skin crawl. "Oh," he said, finally, though he still sounded confused. "What are you doing out here?"

Claire only barely held back a tired sigh. It would only make him defensive, and the last thing she needed from him now was more resistance. "Looking for you," she told him, with an attempt at levity. "You went running off on us."

"I've got to go find the prime minister, remember?" he said, jerking a thumb behind him, in the direction he'd been headed. "There was the prison, and those trigger-happy guards. Yes?"

"I remember," Claire replied. "That's all well and good, but do you think now is the best time for this?" She tugged him very, very lightly back towards the forest. The gentlest of suggestions.

He didn't fall for it, simply frowning at her. "The sooner the better, isn't it?" he asked. Then, realization lit up his face. "Oh," he said. "You're worried about me."

It took all of Claire's learned patience not to roll her eyes. However, she couldn't stop herself from snapping, "Well, you look half dead, so I think it's warranted."

"I'm fine," he told her, almost convincingly. "But maybe I could use your help with the prime minister. Might not be the best plan to head in there on my own, in case he is responsible for what's going on, yeah? Want to be my backup, Claire Temple?" He grinned. If he hadn't looked so glassy and unfocused while doing it, Claire might've found his excitement contagious.

He seemed to sense her hesitation, because he took a turn pulling on her. "Please?" he asked, nearly pouting. "Please, please? C'mon, you want to help save those people down there, don't you? I told them we'd get them out, and I intend to follow through on that promise."

"You didn't promise today," Claire pointed out. She pulled on him back. It was a weird sort of tug-of-war. "Come back to the TARDIS, get some sleep and recover, and we can take care of this tomorrow. It'll all still be here."

"A lot can happen in a day," the Doctor countered. "You saw what conditions were like down there. And I'm sure those guards expect us to try and take them down - if we don't act quickly, they might do something rash." He sobered, quickly enough that it made Claire's blood run cold. "I won't be responsible for those people's deaths, Claire. I don't think you want to be, either."

They hadn't known each other very long, but it clearly hadn't taken him much time to pin her down. She could feel herself caving, giving into her desire to help, to save the beaten-down people they'd met from more pain, despite the fact that she _knew_ this was a terrible idea.

He jerked his arm back, tearing away from her grip, and started off again. Claire reached out an arm to try to grab him, but fell just short of reaching him.

 _It's definitely not bad luck that you keep getting into these situations_ , she thought angrily. _It's because you're a bit of a hero-type yourself. You idiot._

The Doctor stopped about two yards away, and looked back at her. "Coming?"

Claire held back a sigh. "Yeah," she said. "I'm coming."

* * *

By the time they reached paved roads and the indications of a city in the distance, Claire was resignedly serving as the Doctor's crutch. She hadn't had much of a choice after he'd started very obviously losing both balance and direction. It felt like pure luck that they'd reached civilization at all.

"That's Bolich, the capital," the Doctor explained as they continued their staggering approach. "I think. Bit blurry."

"Is the prime minister there?" Claire asked. _Please God, say he is_.

"Should be. I would hope. It's where he lives."

Claire sighed, disguising the action as blowing hair out of her face. "You sure you don't need a break?" she checked. "I'm practically holding you up here, Doctor."

Some of the weight he'd been leaning on her lightened. "No," he said, "I'm fine."

"Does 'fine' mean something different to your species than to humans?" Claire asked, only half-joking. "Because I've noticed you say it a lot, especially when most people would _not_."

"Now you're being smart with me," the Doctor informed her, almost incredulous. "'Fine' means 'fine,' Claire Temple. You're such a mother hen, has anyone told you that?"

Claire nudged him with an elbow. "I'm a nurse," she snarked. "It's my job to be a mother hen."

He snorted a painful-sounding laugh, and then shuddered - a weird, jerky movement.

Immediately, Claire stopped walking, and sat him down on the grass. More concerning than the laugh or the shuddering was the fact that he didn't so much as pretend to fight her off. He blinked up at her and frowned, and that was the extent of his disagreement.

"Maybe...sitting is good," he hedged, as she stared at him.

"This was a bad idea," she decided, heart clenching regretfully. "I shouldn't have listened to you."

"I'm okay," he insisted. Considering he still hadn't moved, however, his claims carried little weight. And he kept twitching. The longer Claire watched, the more it looked like more of a flinch.

"If you think we're going to make it all the way into the city, you're deluding yourself," Claire informed him. She crossed her arms to punctuate her point. "It's probably another few miles at least. I know I'm exhausted, and I didn't touch an evil plant."

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. "A plant can't really be _evil_ , Claire." He relented, however, as she glared. "I suppose I see your point. But we can't exactly head back, either, can we? Even if I was tired, which I'm not, it's a long way in either direction. I think we should keep going."

"Of course you do," she muttered. Louder, she said, "You're getting worse, Doctor. Don't think I can't tell. I'm a trained professional."

He visibly tried to stop himself from doing any further flinching, but that only drew lines of pain on his face that had Claire doing some flinching herself out of sympathy. "I can handle it," he near-whined. "I can handle lots of things. More walking, for example."

Claire stepped back as he stood up. He managed to stand upright, hands on his hips, giving her a smug look, for a solid second before he staggered. Claire tried to help him settle, but in the end they both ended up falling to the ground, gasping in pain and, in Claire's case, wheezing curses under her breath.

"Sorry," the Doctor said, trying to catch his breath beside her. "Dizzy."

He was saved from a biting response by someone shouting from the other side of him - a suspicious, mildly threatening male voice. "Hey! This is private property!"

Claire hastily pushed herself up to a sitting position, and immediately picked out the form of a bulky figure in the distance; just close enough that she could pick out a few features, but not close enough to allow anything less than yelling. Like all of the natives to this planet, he was light green and humanoid, with the tiniest hints of fish ancestry evident on his body, like the easily spotted gills in his neck. He wore fancy-looking clothes, with shiny lines in the jacket that glinted in the sun.

"Sorry!" she called back. "We're trying to get moving!" She forced herself up, onto her blistering feet, and reached down to help the Doctor.

"I think I'll stay down here," he said, faintly. "Maybe just...a second." She attempted to pull him up, but he couldn't even manage to stay sitting for longer than a few seconds. "Just a second," he repeated. He did another of those jerky shudders. Claire's stomach dropped.

She looked up to the man again, and found that he was approaching them, close enough now that she could see a bulge at his hip that implied a weapon. Her heart lurched into a frantic pound.

"We're not armed!" she announced, spreading her hands wide to prove it. The Doctor looked confused, but followed her lead.

As the man continued walking, she thought he might look vaguely amused. Which was either a good thing, or a very bad one.

Claire kept entirely still as he came closer, but by the time he was standing in front of them, she could feel herself shaking a little bit - as a result of her exhaustion, or adrenaline, or a mix of both.

He looked at both of them, his beady-eyed gaze lingering on Claire's dishevelled hair and sweaty face, and the Doctor's predicament on the ground, and his obviously feverish appearance. Slowly, the man's face seemed to change to something a bit less stern.

"What are your names?" he asked. His accent was almost American, but the r's were a little wrong. He sounded like a man used to being listened to.

"I'm Claire Temple, and this is the Doctor." Claire kept her gestures slow and open.

"You're foreigners," he noted, glancing between them again. "What brings you to these parts? Few tourists find their way out here." The suspicion returned, although less severe than before.

"We were just exploring," Claire explained. "We have some friends with us, but they're back at our ship." She threw a hand vaguely in the direction they'd come. "The Doctor decided it would be a good idea to wander off."

"I see." The man looked to the Doctor again, who was frowning like he wasn't sure what was happening. As Claire had thought, he was definitely getting worse. The man seemed to be thinking similar things, as he said, "he doesn't look well."

"Wegran's Fever," the Doctor piped up, his face clearing. "In the forest. There's quite a bit of it."

Instantly, the man looked sympathetic. "I understand."

"We're trying to get to Borich," the Doctor continued, a little more cheerfully. Claire might have been fooled by his energy, if he wasn't still flinching now and again. "Is there any way you could help us out?"

"I thought your ship was that way." The man gestured to the forest. Some of his suspicion returned. "It seems unwise to wander further from it in your condition."

"Oh, not you too," the Doctor pouted. Still, he didn't get up.

Claire sighed. "We're looking for help," she said. "There were some men after us, earlier, and we're trying to deal with them."

"Men," the man repeated, frowning. "Hm." He paused, glancing at the Doctor again. "Would you mind coming with me? If you can."

Every bad horror movie Claire had ever watched warned against this kind of thing. But the Doctor was struggling to sit up, and she had little choice but to grab onto him and help. "Where are you expecting us to go?" she asked. "I don't want to be rude, but-"

"There's someone you should talk to," he cut in, not unkindly, "about these men. You aren't the first ones to have this problem. Maybe we can help each other."

The Doctor prodded her in the back, with more force than she expected. "I trust him," he said, in her ear. "I've got great instincts, Claire."

She couldn't help but glance to the man's hidden weapon again. "We have food and water," he offered, either not noticing her concerns or not caring. "If nothing else, we can help you regain your energy for your journey back."

At the very mention of water, Claire felt her throat clench, and her mouth go dry. And she couldn't exactly say she wasn't hungry, either. She wished this didn't feel so much like a trap.

But the longer they stood, the more weight the Doctor leaned on her. Soon, she knew, he'd probably be completely useless. He was already hardly able to stand as it was - the longer they waited, the more likely it was that she would have to carry him back to the TARDIS. And since she could hardly carry _herself_ at this point...

Claire kept her guard up, but she nodded. "Thank you," she said. "That sounds nice."

The man smiled, or almost did.

"What's your name?" Claire asked.

"Tuan." He gently took her hand, and then released it, like a wimpy sort of handshake. Claire tried to smile. Apparently it was convincing enough, as Tuan moved to the Doctor's other side to help. The moment some of that weight was lifted off of Claire she felt a little better. And although her feet protested her every movement, walking was made just easy enough that she managed to plow onwards.

Fortunately, their walk was a short one. Tuan led them further forward, and then turned them onto a dirt path through a small wood. No Wegran's Fever in sight, to Claire's unending relief.

The path was well-groomed and smooth enough that it wasn't too unpleasant, and it led quickly to a small but obviously expensive cabin buried among the trees.

 _Cabin in the woods,_ Claire thought, tensing although the cabin didn't look terribly threatening. _Great_.

"This is an odd place to stay," the Doctor remarked.

"It's secure and unsuspecting," Tuan replied, a little too stiff to be casual.

 _Why would it need to be unsuspecting?_ Claire wondered. She tried to glance at the Doctor to gauge his reaction, but that was made difficult by their current position. She very nearly voiced the thought, concern clenching around her chest, but she was interrupted by the front door of the cabin opening.

An old fish-man stepped out - a gray sort of green, with hints of white hair on his head, and a beautiful cloak that clashed with the simple brown clothes he wore underneath it.

"Sir," Tuan greeted, passing a little of the Doctor's weight back to Claire in order to perform a slight bow.

"Are these the intruders you found?" the old man asked, scanning over Claire and the Doctor with sharp, keen eyes that had Claire straightening her back to look a little less like she was collapsing under the weight of the Doctor and her burning feet.

"Yes, sir," the other replied. "They go by Claire Temple and the Doctor. Apparently they made contact with some Wegran's Fever in their journey through the forest."

The older man's eyes narrowed. "What were you doing in the forest?"

The Doctor cleared his throat. He twitched again. "My ship is parked nearby," he explained.

"They claimed to have been attacked by some men," Tuan interjected. The old man's eyes narrowed further.

"In the process of escaping them, we had to go through the forest," Claire jumped in, fighting down her nerves. Whatever this was, they could get through it. They'd already escaped gunfire and angry guards today. Why not this? "We didn't realize what we were surrounded by until it was too late."

"I'm fine though," the Doctor added. Since he was holding up almost none of his own weight, Claire knew the old man would not be convinced.

As predicted, he frowned at the Doctor, and tilted his head in an obviously disapproving manner. Nonetheless, he stepped back into the cabin and said, "Come in."

It took almost all of Claire's remaining strength to take the final steps into the cabin, despite Tuan's help, but once inside she was rewarded with a welcome sight - a polished wooden table directly ahead, surrounded by cushioned chairs. She couldn't hide her relief as Tuan took the Doctor's weight off of her entirely, and she was able to take a seat. As soon as the pressure of her body weight was taken off her feet, she was able to relax.

Tuan sat the Doctor down beside her, and then proceeded to enter the tiny kitchen to the right of the door and dig into the cupboards, leaving Claire to try and keep the Doctor from collapsing forward and bashing his head on the table. The old man sat down across the table from Claire, where a steaming cup of something herbal and fragrant waited for him.

Claire managed to get the Doctor mostly upright in his chair, but she knew it probably wouldn't last very long. He was paler than ever before, and those weird shudders had increased in frequency, although he maintained a surprising grip on lucidity.

Tuan returned with water, and a plate of what Claire thought was buttered toast. Maybe it was a bad idea to eat any food offered by a stranger in a situation like this, but...they were already in deep as it was. And she was _starving_. _The others might already be out looking for us_ , she reasoned as she chewed. _If this does go badly, maybe we'll be lucky and they'll get here in time to rescue us._

"Thank you," she said, after swallowing her first bite. Tuan nodded as he sat beside the old man. The Doctor took a few clumsy sips from his water, but nothing more.

"Tell us more about these men you encountered," the old man invited.

"They were fond of guns and hallway chases," the Doctor muttered. Upon looking at him, Claire found that his eyebrows had come together in what looked like a willful suppression of pain. She'd seen it on many patients' faces before. She had to clench her jaw to stop herself from squeezing his shoulder - she doubted he would appreciate the gesture.

"They were all around the same height and build," she clarified. "They were wearing heavy black armor, and they had stun guns. They captured us while we were exploring the countryside, and we all woke up in an underground prison that was full of other...foreigners. We got the impression that they were after us for that reason alone."

The old man inclined his head, and his gaze drifted thoughtfully down to his drink. "There have been previous reports of armed guards attacking tourists," he said, at last, in a deep and sorrowful voice that surprised Claire with its intensity, "but there have been no confirmed reports from any that managed to escape." His eyes lifted again to meet Claire's, unhappy and bitter. "I should have expected this to happen."

Tuan shook his head. "The ignorance of others is not your responsibility, sir," he argued.

Bewildered, Claire set aside her toast. However, the Doctor spoke up before she was able to gather the right words. "What do you think caused them to do this?" He looked less alert than Claire would have hoped, but at least he was keeping track of the conversation.

The old man grimaced. "We loosened our border security laws after we realized that the tourism industry is what drives the majority of our planet's commerce. There are some extremist groups that have always been against a tourism-heavy economy, but they were never so vocal until we expanded the industry in the past year." He took a sip of his drink, looking painfully regretful. "They believe that our economy should be self-sufficient, and unreliant on the travel of foreigners. I understand the logic, but at this point it's unreasonable."

"Oh, _right_ ," the Doctor breathed. He sat up as straight as he could, his eyes lighting up with more than fever. "The economy crashed a few years ago."

The old man sighed. "Yes. The only thing that held strong was tourism, so we poured our resources into that, hoping that the resulting profits could help us regain our former position. We were correct - we're already recovering our more devastating losses, and soon enough we'll be less reliant on foreigners to help us. But these extremist groups don't believe our figures. They've been heavily protesting for nearly a year, claiming that tourists are hurting our economy, not helping it. And, supposedly, kidnapping so-called 'criminal foreigners.'"

"Meaning any non-natives," Claire guessed, to which both men nodded. "Damn."

"I can't get through to them," the old man said, shaking his head. "I've done numerous press briefings on the true facts of the situation, even proving that I understand their point, but nothing seems to work."

 _Press briefings_ , Claire thought. She glanced to the man's cloak, and briefly around the unexpectedly beautiful cabin - too expensive to be just any old man's home.

"Tuan thought it wise to move me to this home," the old man piped up, giving Claire a sad but knowing smile, "in case one of these groups decided to come after me directly."

"You're the prime minister," the Doctor said. Some of the stress vanished from his face as he grinned. "Eeron Tlarick."

The man nodded, sorrow lifting from his expression. "Very astute."

Claire's throat was suddenly dry again, despite the water she'd been sipping on throughout their conversation. "Nice to meet you, sir," she said, quickly. "Thank you for your hospitality." She glanced to Tuan - his getup made more sense now. He was the prime minister's guard, and probably his assistant as well.

"We should be thanking you," Tlarick replied, turning his smile to her. "With your help, we should be able to locate this prison and put a stop to this at once."

Claire startled as someone poked her in the ribs. She looked to find the Doctor giving her a smug look. "See?" he said. "I have good ideas."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. Wandering feverishly by yourself in what has already proven to be a hostile area is a _great_ strategy, oh Wise One."

"But I told you finding the prime minister would help, and I was right," he insisted. He poked her again. "Didn't I?"

"You were looking for us," Tuan said, surprised.

"We didn't expect to find you here," Claire told him, pushing the Doctor's hand away. "We were headed into the city, hoping we'd be able to get a meeting to explain the situation."

Tlarick's smile grew. "Then it was fate. You've done our planet a great service, simply by virtue of your evidence. And you came looking for us knowing that you could be recaptured." He nodded to each of them. "Thank you." His gaze lingered on the Doctor, and open sympathy took over his face. "Now, let us help you with that Wegran's Fever problem of yours."

* * *

Claire stepped out of the TARDIS, and back into her apartment. It was exactly as she'd left it - blankets strewn across the couch, empty glass of wine on the coffee table, and her dog-eared copy of the fifth _Harry Potter_ lying open on the floor where she'd dropped it in shock when the TARDIS had landed in her living room.

When she saw the time on her microwave's clock, visible in the otherwise dark kitchen from where she stood, her heart skipped a beat. Despite her still-healing feet and new clothes and widened perspective, she had only been gone for five minutes.

She heard the doors close behind her, and spun around with her heart in her throat to see the Doctor standing there, a plain white envelope in his hand.

"For a second I was worried you were taking off," she confessed with a laugh.

"Not without saying goodbye!" the Doctor exclaimed. With a day of recovery behind him, he was back to his usual self. "You thought I would let you say goodbye to everyone else and then leave?" But he was grinning. Claire grinned back.

"I had a good time," she said. She thought of returning to work the next morning, and felt a pang both of longing and regret. She'd requested to go home, otherwise she suspected that the Doctor would have kept dragging her along on adventures forever. She'd had enough excitement for the moment. But that didn't mean life on the TARDIS didn't have its perks.

"Good. Most people _say_ they don't want to run around and get into trouble, but it really is a lot of fun," the Doctor informed her. He stuck out a hand to shake. "Thank you for coming aboard, Claire Temple. Your help was invaluable."

Claire took the hand, but pulled him into a hug instead of shaking. He made a squeaking noise of surprise, but he transitioned into hugging easily enough. Claire felt her eyes sting a little, although at what she wasn't quite sure. She imagined, for a ridiculous moment, that she was hugging the Kilgrave-Doctor instead, and that practically tipped her over the edge.

"You're crying," the Doctor accused, pulling back at once with surprising strength. His eyes were wide with approaching panic. "Why are you crying?" He sounded so much like the Kilgrave-Doctor...like himself. It really sunk in for her, at that moment, that they really were the same man, appearances cast aside.

"I'm sorry," she said. "For my part in what happened."

The Doctor blinked. "What? Oh, you mean the whole...Kilgrave thing." He leaned back a little more, grimacing. "You did nothing but help, Claire. Most of what happened was my own fault."

"I should have known you weren't human the first time I took your pulse," she snapped. "But Jessica told me you were Kilgrave and I couldn't not believe her. I reasoned it away. I'm an idiot."

The Doctor shook his head, sighing. "You're anything but an idiot. There was no reason to suspect that I was anything other than a human, albeit maybe one with a heart condition. It's not everyday you meet a Time Lord, I'm not shocked you didn't recognize one." He dared a smile, and took her hands in his. "You're a good nurse, Claire Temple. And more than that, a good person." He'd stuffed the envelope in his pocket before attempting to shake her hand, but now he retrieved it again in order to hand it off to her. "You deserve a good life."

Claire's chest ached. She clutched at the envelope, feeling something slightly stiff inside. She guessed it was a card, but it was a little too small for that. "But-"

"I'm absolving you of any guilt," the Doctor interrupted. He moved his hands to her shoulders and gave her a light shake. "I couldn't have asked for a better nurse. You advocated for me when the others wouldn't. Or, maybe _couldn't_ is a better word." He smiled. "You're very brave, Claire Temple. You prove it time and time again." He squeezed her arms, gentle and reassuring. "Thank you for taking care of me. And everyone else, for that matter."

Claire managed a smile back.

"Take care of yourself now," the Doctor instructed, glancing pointedly to the envelope as he stepped back. He snapped, and the TARDIS doors spilled golden light over the living room floor as they cracked open.

"You too," Claire replied, just before he shut the doors. She caught a hint of a replying smile before it was obscured by blue wood. Not ten seconds later, that blue began to fade, with a grating whirr that filled the entire apartment.

And then the TARDIS was gone.

If it hadn't been for the new clothes she wore, her sore feet, and the envelope she clutched in her hands, Claire might have believed it had all been her imagination. Wishful thinking - the desire for closure manifesting into a wild story.

Claire tore open the envelope with a pounding heart, and she couldn't deny that her hands might have been shaking a little as she removed the two papers inside it.

The first was a short note, scrawled on yellowed paper. _Thank you, Claire Temple,_ it read. _You are extraordinary. This is for the drawing next week. Take a minute out of your busy saving-people schedule to check the winning numbers. - The Doctor._

The second was a lottery ticket.

* * *

 **Sorry about the week-late update, guys! I forgot last weekend was Easter, and then I got caught up in holiday stuff, plus the last week of classes for the semester! Better late than never though.**

 **This chapter's not really edited, so hopefully there aren't any glaring errors! If there are, please let me know!**

 **I'm planning to update again in a couple of weeks, as usual, but after that I might take a short hiatus in order to finish this story fully before posting the rest of it. I'll keep you posted. As always, thank you so much for reading. 3**


	10. Date Night

**Chapter 10: Date Night**

His name was Arthur Robertson, but he went by Art. His dark blond hair was a little messy, but in a charming way. He was pale and slight, but not unpleasantly so. He had a nice smile. He seemed intelligent, and he was funny to boot.

And he was obviously interested in her.

When the Doctor had suggested a night out, Trish hadn't really believed it would happen. He didn't strike her as the partying type - he clearly much preferred running for his life, and he was, in Jessica's words, "shit at dancing." But he surprised all of them by insisting on going, assisted by Amy and Rory's reboarding and excitement to get out and "do something," as Amy pleaded. Trish and Jessica had both suspected ulterior motives, but neither had been able to determine what those motives could possibly be. It was only now, as Trish spotted he and a very mischievous Amelia Pond grinning at her from across the crowded 23rd-century bar and waggling their eyebrows suggestively, that she realized.

Some part of her wanted to be angry, but at that moment Art laid his hand lightly on her arm to catch her attention, and gave her a warm, curious smile. "Everything okay?" he asked, in his strange, vaguely American accent.

And she couldn't be angry.

She smiled back. "Yeah, everything's fine." She turned away from where she'd seen the Doctor and made herself focus on Art. He kept smiling at her, friendly and sweet. Trish had never been nervous talking to men, but back at home she'd never had to pretend to be from a different century entirely in order to keep things relatively normal. So she felt she could be excused from the fact that her palms were a little sweaty. "It just occurred to me that a couple of friends of mine brought us here in order to set me up with someone," she confessed.

Art seemed to find this amusing rather than off-putting, thankfully, and he laughed. "Well, I'm glad they did," he said. He leaned in a little, and smiled conspiratorially at her. "You said you don't really drink. Can I get you a nice dance instead?"

Trish laughed, and accepted the hand he extended to her after discreetly wiping hers on her skirt. "Okay," she agreed. "Let's dance."

They worked their way onto the crowded bar floor, close to the speakers that blasted music Trish had never heard, among such a diverse throng of people that it made her head spin. There were plenty of humans around, or people that looked like humans, but there was an equal amount of obvious aliens. Stranger than the aliens themselves, though, were the humans who treated it as completely normal. Trish couldn't help but notice the tentacle-covered green man at the edge of the dance floor, and had to force herself not to stare, but Art hardly seemed to notice.

He brought her to nearly the center of the floor, just in time for a new song to begin. He was a bit of an awkward dancer, but Trish found it entertaining and charming. She couldn't say that she was much better. Despite the unfamiliar music and the drunken press of bodies all around them, it was fun. It reminded Trish of nights out with Jessica in their early twenties; a comparison which was only reinforced as Jessica suddenly appeared beside her, shouting in her ear and smelling of cheap whiskey.

"I requested _Fergalicious!"_ Jessica yelled, sounding all too pleased with herself. Trish couldn't help but laugh. Luke squeezed into the group, towering over most everyone on the dance floor, and grinning in a way that suggested he'd been part of Jessica's plan.

"This is Art," she told them, putting an arm on his shoulder and pulling him a little closer in. "Art, this is Jessica and Luke."

"Nice to meet you!" Art shouted, shaking each of their hands and smiling. "You guys here to dance?"

"Why the fuck not?" Jessica asked. She grabbed Luke's hands to drag him closer, and Trish almost laughed at the bemused expression on the man's face. "What," Jessica smirked, "you thought I was going to request a song only to _not_ dance to it?"

It felt to Trish like being thrown back into her youth - Jessica screaming the words to her requested song, when it finally came on, with an abandon she only ever showed six drinks in at a too-loud nightclub, Trish following along seamlessly. If she ignored their actual location in time and space it could have been ten years ago. No Kilgrave, no unexpected misfortune, just a night out.

"You like the oldies, huh?" Art teased in a shout as they danced.

 _The oldies_ , Trish thought, bewildered. She laughed, more in shock than amusement, but she managed a warm smile nonetheless. "Yeah," she replied. "It's what me and Jess grew up on."

Art grinned. "Hey, I'm cool with that. They're classics for a reason."

The moment the song wrapped up, Jessica and Luke left for the bar, and Trish was alone with Art again. They couldn't exactly have a real conversation, and she was quickly tiring out, but she couldn't deny that she was having _fun_. Real fun, like she couldn't really remember having up until recently. Real fun with a guy she thought she kind of liked.

Okay, so she wasn't mad at the Doctor at _all_. Not even a little bit.

At least, not until a familiar pair of cold hands grabbed her arms and dragged her with surprising ease off of the dance floor. The moment they cleared the throng of people, Trish turned to scowl at the Doctor. She stopped in the middle of opening her mouth to demand an explanation as she spotted a familiar curly-haired figure beside him.

"River!" she exclaimed instead. "When did you get here? _How_ did you get here?" She then noticed the Doctor's ruffled hair and harried expression, and paused.

"I picked her up," he explained in a yell, "and while I was gone the Ponds went and got into trouble."

"Oh, God," Trish said. "Where's Je-"

"At the bar," the Doctor interrupted. "Jack and Ianto are…" he squinted, seemingly mentally seeking Jack out, "in the bathroom. Oh." He made a face. Trish might have laughed, if the situation wasn't so obviously serious.

"I'll go interrupt them," River offered. "We'll meet you in the far corner table, sweetie." She vanished into the crowd, and the Doctor's grip went a little too tight on Trish's arms.

 _He's really worried_ , she realized with a jolt. "Is everyone okay?"

"For now," the Doctor said, "but not for much longer if we don't hurry."

Trish's heart lurched, and her stomach twisted. "What-"

Before she could finish, another pair of hands - warmer, human ones - pried the Doctor's off of her. "Hey!" Art snapped. "What do you think you're doing? You can't just pull someone wherever you like-"

"You must be the bloke Trish has been flirting with," the Doctor said, without skipping a beat. "Nice to meet you, I'm the Doctor. Can we save the yelling for later, when there's not a bomb ticking in the basement?"

Trish's heart seemed to stop. "A _what?"_

"I'm going to grab the Ponds," the Doctor continued, turning his full attention back to her again, "you're in charge of Jessica and Luke, yes?"

Helplessly, Trish agreed.

"Great," the Doctor said, "meet us at the corner table," and as quickly as he'd come he was gone.

Art spoke up in a strained voice. "Did he say a _bomb?"_

Trish closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of frustration. "Yeah," she said, reopening them. "He did. Come on." Before she could wonder if she was being too forward, she took him by the hand and walked him to the bar, where she spotted Jessica and Luke chatting and drinking.

Jessica began to wave at her, but upon fully taking in Trish's expression, stopped and frowned. Luke turned immediately after, a matching look on his face. "The Doctor's landed us in the shitter, hasn't he?" Jessica asked immediately once they were close enough to hear one another, nose wrinkling.

Trish sighed, "he claims it was the Ponds."

Luke's eyes narrowed. "Did he say what happened?"

"No, only that he left to pick River up, and by the time they got back Amy and Rory were in trouble."

Jessica blinked. "River's here?"

Art physically cut through the conversation by waving a hand. "I'm sorry, but what's going on here?"

Trish realized she was still gripping his hand and released it, determined to ignore the blush already rising to her cheeks. He met her eyes, looking horrified and confused and worried, and her stomach clenched unhappily. "I wish I could tell you," she said. "I genuinely have no idea."

"When does the Doctor ever tell us anything?" Jessica grouched. She threw back the last of her drink and slammed the glass on the counter hard enough to crack it. Fortunately, because of the pumping music and buzz of conversation, no one outside their small group seemed to notice, although Trish saw Art go pale out of the corner of her eye.

"We're supposed to meet the others at that table there," Trish said, gesturing. "ASAP." She thought she saw Art give her another strange look, but forced herself to ignore it. "I assume we'll get an explanation then."

Luke set his half-finished drink down much more carefully than Jessica had, and gently took her arm. "We'd better go, then," he said. "I'm looking forward to hearing what the hell this is about."

"I'm not convinced that this is the Ponds' fault," Jessica declared as they started moving. "When have we known Amy or Rory to do something stupid enough that we've had to have a group strategy meeting? This has the Doctor's name written all over it."

Trish realized that she'd gained an extra weight, and glanced down to find Art pulling at her arm, wide-eyed and hunched slightly in on himself. He looked a little sick. She waved Jess and Luke on, and stopped to face him fully. "You don't have to come along," she said, before anything else. "I'm so sorry I dragged you into this." Gently, she took his hand and moved it off of her arm.

"Does this kind of thing happen a lot with you?" he asked. Despite his pallor, she thought she detected some small amount of weak humor. That only made her feel worse.

"These days, yeah," she admitted. "I've sort of had...an abrupt change in lifestyle in the past month." Even before that, her life had been more dangerous than most, but she decided not to mention that. "I had a good time tonight, but obviously if you want to get the hell out I don't blame you. The sooner you leave this place the better, probably, if there's actually...a bomb."

Art's mouth quirked up - a little too terrified to be a real smile, but it was somewhat close. Trish felt his hand close over hers again, hesitant and nervous. "It seems like my best bet might be to stay with you," he said. "If you don't mind."

Trish's heart skipped, and she felt her cheeks go a little warm again despite herself. "Sure," she said. "If you really want to." Art's smile dropped abruptly, but before she could ask him what was wrong, those cold hands reappeared on her shoulders and she jumped. "Jesus, Doctor," she snapped, spinning around. "You can't keep sneaking up on me like that."

"Sorry, sorry," he said, releasing her at once. He looked slightly less distressed, but not enough to be reassuring. "We've got to hurry, though. The sooner we figure out a plan, the safer we'll be." His eyes locked on Art. "Is he coming?"

Art stood just a little bit taller, although Trish spotted telltale sweat on his brow, and looming fear in his eyes. "Yes," he said, convincing enough to ease some of her concerns about him.

"Lovely," the Doctor said, flashing the briefest of smiles. "Now this is a proper date! Come along, you two."

At the table, all of the others had assembled, already bickering amongst themselves. Jack and Ianto were rumpled and obviously displeased and, on Ianto's side, a little embarrassed. Rory looked nervous, and Amy near-murderous. Jessica was still annoyed, and Luke was still concerned. River looked like she was gearing up for a fight.

Trish took the nearest free seat, and Art quickly joined her. The Doctor, however, remained standing, and leaned against the table.

"Who's your friend, Trish?" Jack asked, a familiar wink in his eye.

"This is Art," she introduced. "Art, this is-"

"Stop flirting, Jack," the Doctor interrupted.

"I'm not _flirting_ , Doctor!" Jack said, crossing his arms. "Ianto's right here-"

"You say that like it stops you."

Ianto actually laughed a little at that, laying a soothing hand on Jack's shoulder. "I know he doesn't mean it."

Art made a sort of strangled noise in his throat. "Isn't there a _bomb_ we should be talking about?" he prompted nervously.

Everyone at the table stilled at once. "A _bomb?"_ Jack exclaimed."What the fuck, Doc?"

"It's Amy's fault-"

Amy stood, her chair skidding backwards, and stabbed at the Doctor's chest with a finger, leaning all the way across the table to do so. "Don't you start," she snapped. "How was I supposed to know that a tiny _eyebrow movement_ was a _gang signal?"_

Rory choked on his water. Jessica joined Amy in standing, her disbelief unable to be contained by a chair. "You're fucking kidding me," she said.

"It was an accident," River soothed, "it's not really anyone's fault. _Sit_. We're only attracting attention to ourselves standing and yelling like this."

Amy scowled, but collapsed back into her chair. Jessica followed with a pissy sigh. The Doctor, after a glare from his wife, did the same, although he tapped his fingers anxiously on the table.

"How does 'eyebrow movement' lead to 'gang signal' lead to 'bomb'?" Luke puzzled.

Surprisingly, it was Art who spoke up. "The Reddings and the Bricks," he said, as if it was supposed to be obvious. He met Trish's eyes, and the confusion on his face only worsened as he took in her lack of understanding.

"Go on," the Doctor encouraged.

After a brief hesitation, Art nodded and continued his explanation. "There are a few gangs that have been acting up in the past couple of years in this solar system, but the Reddings and the Bricks are the most famous. Or infamous, I guess. They've been known to take, er, extreme action against one another, even in public places."

"I still don't see how eyebrows could have triggered gang activity," Trish admitted.

Art gave her a strange look. "Well, both of the gangs are predominantly Delphon. There was a whole article about it a few months ago, it was going around in every sector this side of the galaxy."

"The Delphon are known for a complex language involving little more than eyebrow movements," River clarified. "It's easy to accidentally say things you don't mean, especially since humans use their eyebrows unconsciously in conversation all the time."

"Great," Jessica said. "Eyebrow language. Because why the hell not."

"It seems likely," the Doctor cut in, "that Amy made an accidental signal identifying herself as a member of an enemy gang, and so an opposing gang member in the bar decided to attack."

"So what are we supposed to do?" Luke asked. "Shouldn't we evacuate the place?"

"Of course, but we can't just let them blow up the bar," the Doctor said. "I don't fancy the idea of having to explain to the owner how we destroyed his business."

Rory groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. "None of us are qualified to become part of a bomb squad, Doctor."

"Speak for yourself."

"Can you not just call the police?" Ianto demanded. "Just one time? This was supposed to be a nice night out."

"The only excitement that was supposed to happen was maybe Trish getting laid," Amy piped up. Trish felt Art draw back a little beside her, and she brought a hand up to cover her eyes and hide her flush. "Oh," Amy said, apparently remembering Art's presence, "sorry Trish."

"No one's sleeping with anyone tonight," Jack groused. "Ianto and I were in the bathroom - _in the bathroom_ \- when River burst in-"

The Doctor knocked on the table to pull attention back. Trish sighed and allowed her hand to fall back to her side. "While we all _love_ hearing about your and Ianto's sex life, Jack, now's not the time," the Doctor said. "You two can be in charge of finding the owner and informing him of the situation. Ponds - not including you, River - and Luke and Jessica - you lot start getting people out of here with as little panic as possible. Trish and - sorry, what's your name?" The Doctor derailed abruptly, turning all of his attention on Art, who Trish could see cringing back slightly.

"Art," he said, hesitantly.

"Full name?" the Doctor prodded.

"Um...Arthur Robertson."

"That's a fine name. Very traditional. Trish and Robertson, you call the police here, will you? They can be backup." He then grinned, looking to his wife. "River, you're with me."

River smirked back. "It's been a long time since I've disarmed a bomb, but I'm sure it'll come back to me. Like riding a bike."

Art made another weird noise, but as it was lost in a brief pulse of extra-loud music, Trish was pretty sure she was the only one who heard it.

"Meet outside, far from the building, when you're done," the Doctor instructed. "We have about fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen-" Rory spluttered, but the Doctor was already shouting, "Go, go, go!" and they were moving.

At some point in the chaos of movement and terrified complaints, Trish found Art's hand in hers again. She couldn't bring herself to release it until the two of them had escaped through the doors, past the bouncers, and into the chilled night air. Even so, it took her a moment to gather herself enough to force her hand to open, and another moment for Art to get the hint and pull back as well.

The two of them stood, a few feet outside the entrance to the bar, listening to the music pumping from inside and staring at each other in silence.

Art broke away first, looking down to pull something out of his pocket. It looked like a phone, but as he turned it on Trish discovered that it was hardly more than a screen attached to a thin outer frame, the width only slightly larger than the average potato chip. Her own phone, one of the newest Starkphones, suddenly felt much too large where it rested uselessly in her pocket.

As he dialed, Art crossed to a bench on the sidewalk opposite the bar, half-stumbling. Trish could only trail anxiously behind, and perch beside him on the icy metal seat as he made the call.

"I'm at the Renaissance," Art announced only a second after they'd sat. "There's a bomb in the basement. They're, uh, trying to evacuate. I was told fifteen minutes." He paused, and swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am. The Reddings and the Bricks, I think." Then another pause, this one slightly less tense. "Uh, yeah, I am." He cast Trish an embarrassed sort of glance. "Um. Thank you? I'll-yes, I'll stay here. Please hurry." He hung up, the strange screen going dark.

"That didn't sound like your typical emergency call," Trish noted, attempting a smile.

Art ducked his head, ran a hand through his hair. "She recognized my voice," he admitted. "I probably should have expected that. It happens a lot." He shot her another of those embarrassed looks, although this time Trish detected a twinge of suspicion there that she had missed before.

Trish disguised a tiny wince as an unusually harsh cough. "Should I have recognized your voice?" she asked. She hoped that she didn't sound as foolish and out-of-place as she felt. _I should have insisted that the Doctor take us to a 21st century bar_ , she thought frantically. _I should have guessed that he was planning to set me up. He told me the first time I really met him that he was going to, dammit._

Art chewed at his lip, and looked away again to quickly shake his head. "Look, Trish. Who the hell are you?" He met her eyes again. Her heart jumped at the open fear on his face. "Who are your friends? You didn't know about the gang stuff that's been going on, which _everybody_ knows about, and you said you were from around here so you should have known. You didn't know who the Delphon were - and don't think I didn't notice you staring at anything non-human in that place." He shook his head again. "The only song you seemed to know was the one your friend requested. And, at risk of sounding conceited, you didn't recognize me."

Trish glanced him over helplessly, as if by doing so she might gain some clue of who he was supposed to be, opening and closing her mouth without any idea of what to say. Was she supposed to just come out with it? _I'm sorry about the misunderstanding! My friend the Doctor is an alien time-traveller, so I'm actually from Earth in the 21st century. I was born in the 80s - the_ 19 _80s_.

"Arthur Robertson, from GPR?" he tried, leaning in and clenching his hands together as if pleading with her. "I know radio is a far less popular medium these days, but I was a reporter for a few years on Electric News before, so at least-"

Trish couldn't take it any longer. She turned to face directly toward the bar, where she could now see people stumbling out, all of them looking confused even as they distanced themselves from the doors. Art cut himself off the moment he noticed her wavering attention, and sighed.

"I do radio, too," she blurted. "I have my own show, back home. _Trish Talk_."

She didn't know what she'd expected to accomplish. With a hesitant glance, she found Art just staring at her and looking more nervous than before. It probably sounded like a lie, she realized far too late. _Goddammit._

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I don't know how I keep...Art, I just don't know what I'm even _allowed_ -"

Before she could make any further errors, she spotted a familiar group of figures racing toward the two of them. All too eager to abandon the failing conversation, Trish swallowed her words and stood to greet the others.

Jessica and Amy led the charge, with their respective partners behind them. Jack and Ianto could be seen guiding more people out the front doors with a near-believable calm.

"Any sign of the Doctor or River?" Amy questioned, out of breath.

Trish shook her head. "They're probably still inside."

"They'd better hurry, we only have seven minutes," Jessica snapped. "Shit, fuck-" she shook off the hand Luke set on her arm.

"I'm sure they'll be okay," Rory put in. He sounded a little too freaked out to be convincing, but Trish couldn't say that she didn't appreciate the effort. "I mean," he said, "we all know the Doctor is positively _obnoxious_ about keeping time."

Jessica blew hair out of her face. "Okay, fine, good point."

"River will keep him on track," Amy added. "She won't let him get distracted. She'll probably be the one disarming the bomb, in all honesty."

Trish had to quirk a smile at that. "You're right."

Art's following sigh was loud enough to end their uncertain reassurances. "Trish won't give me a straight answer," he informed them all. "Who _are_ you people?"

"Is now the time?" Jessica snapped.

"Yes!" Art snapped back. "If I don't get an answer now, I'm thinking I never will!"

"He's a reporter," Trish jumped in. Luke nodded understandingly.

"None of you know who I am," Art sighed. And then he grimaced. "That makes me sound so full of myself, I'm sorry."

Amy tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Well, you're right. We don't. Sorry, mister. We're not from around here."

Art squeezed his eyes shut. "Trish told me that you _were_. You guys aren't even human, are you?" He spun to Jessica, opening his eyes again to stare at her in disbelief. "I saw you crack the counter. I don't think I can even come up with any human-looking species that can do something like that off the top of my head."

"We're all human but the Doctor," Rory soothed. "Some of us are just...gifted."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Luke snarked.

Trish waved them down the moment she spotted the flow of people slowing to a stop. "I think everyone's out. Jack and Ianto are headed over." They moved slowly, their adrenaline obviously running low, but they kept a fairly steady pace.

"They're still inside, aren't they?" Jack yelled as he and Ianto made their tired approach. No one needed to ask who he meant. He didn't even need an answer as he got closer and saw all of their faces. "Great."

"What time is it?" Amy asked.

Trish instinctively pulled her phone free from her pocket, and upon a glance up found everyone but Art doing the same. They had two minutes.

"What is that?" Art breathed. Trish attempted to meet his eyes, but he was occupied with staring at her phone in a mix of horror and absolute confusion.

"Shit," she said, shoving it back in its place, safely out of sight. "Art, I want to explain, but it's complicated, and there are probably rules about what I'm allowed to tell you."

He blinked at her, dumbfounded. "I just want _something_ , Trish. Is that even your real name?"

Trish bit back a groan. "Yeah, yes, it is. Patricia Walker. Trish." She was distracted, then, by a flood of red and blue, and turned to find five different spacecrafts descending on the area around the bar. They made a strange and incredibly alien picture - like police cars, but so sleek and futuristic that it caught at Trish's breath. Wind whipped around her, sending her hair flying. It looked like a movie, she thought dazedly.

"Damn," Jessica said, with a whistle. "Space cops."

"Have you never seen police ships before?" Art demanded. "What is going _on?"_

As if on cue, the doors to the bar slammed open, and Trish slumped in relief as she spotted two familiar figures saunter out, accompanied by a bulky humanoid creature that River pushed quickly in front of her. Ten different police officers bounded over; three of them took over the handling of the attacker while two others began speaking to the Doctor and River. The remaining five rushed into the building, presumably to make sure it was clear.

Amy moved toward the bar first, Rory jogging behind her to keep up. By the time Trish could force her slightly wobbly legs to move she and Art were at the back of the group. She watched him out of her peripheral vision as they walked, noting with a skip of the heart that he looked a little sick. She expected him to say something, try and question her again now that they were somewhat alone, but he didn't so much as open his mouth.

"Good job, everyone!" she heard the Doctor exclaim from up ahead. She looked up just in time to see him high-fiving anyone who came too close, even those outside their immediate group. He had grime smeared on his face and hands, and what looked like a blossoming black eye. River was even worse for wear - bloody upper lip, just as dirty, and a bruise already forming on her left cheekbone. But she grinned and swaggered and exchanged brief hugs with her parents as if nothing was wrong.

"What happened in there?" Jessica demanded. "You two look like shit."

"Oh, we're fine," River assured, waving her hand dismissively in a move very reminiscent of her husband. She wrapped an arm around his waist, smoothly preventing him from high-fiving yet another confused stranger. "Just a little scuffle with our guy in there. He wasn't too keen on us disabling his bomb." Just behind her, the police were busy handcuffing the bomber and shuttling him off into one of their ships. It might have been a normal crime scene, if not for the alien lifeforms hovering around, and the spaceships instead of cars.

"You could've asked for backup," Luke pointed out. "You know Jessica and I are the best for fights like that."

"It was more fun this way," the Doctor insisted. "A proper date night! Just like old times, eh, River?" She snickered as he pressed his forehead lightly to hers. Trish got the feeling that she should look away, or else be exposed to some PDA that she'd rather not see.

"Next time you want to have a date involving bombs and fist fights, you two go by yourselves," Jack advised. "Most people would rather, you know, go to a nice dinner. Maybe go get coffee. It's a pretty universal theme, regardless of time period or location, that people prefer to not almost get blown-up on a night out."

"You say that like it was on purpose!" the Doctor scoffed, tearing his eyes from River's to make a face at Jack. "We didn't _plan_ on anything happening. I don't _plan_ these kinds of things."

"Look," Trish cut in, "let's just focus on the fact that it all worked out, okay? Nobody died, the guy was caught - the bar didn't even explode! We accomplished all our goals, didn't we?"

Amy and the Doctor exchanged a significant, slightly sad glance, and then both looked back to Trish (their eyes shifting briefly to Art as well). "Nearly," Amy said.

Art, fortunately for Trish's pride, ignored the implications of that, and plowed onward. "Now that we're not about to die, does anyone mind explaining what the hell just happened to me?" His eyes flew wildly to each one of them, but they finally landed on Trish - pleading, uncertain, and, above all, worried.

Trish gave the Doctor a hurried glance, and made a vague, helpless grasping motion with her hands. He tilted his head at her. She thought he might offer some advice, but all he did was make a "go on" spinning gesture with one hand. Useless.

She took a deep breath. Art kept staring at her. Steeling herself, Trish grabbed his shoulders and squeezed them for a second, then released him with a frustrated sigh. "We're sort of...I told you we were from around here, which wasn't actually a lie, I promise. We're from Earth - well, except the Doctor."

Art shook his head, although he didn't break his bewildered eye contact with her. "If you were from Earth you would know _something_ about me, or the Reddings and Bricks, or-"

"We're time travellers," Jessica interrupted. Trish almost jumped as the other woman set a hand on her shoulder.

Art's mouth popped open. Something like pity appeared on his face, glinting in his eye.

"No, seriously," Trish said. Now that it was out there, it was a little easier to get the rest of the words out, although they felt clumsy and unbelievable on her lips. "Jessica, Luke, and I are from 2015." Art blinked at her. "And Ianto and Jack, too."

"Actually, I'm technically from the 51st century," Jack said.

Trish choked on her next words, so it was Luke who spoke first. "You're _what_?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Jack asked, sounding surprised. "I've been living in the 2000s, but I thought I mentioned-"

"Rory and I are from 2011," Amy cut in. "River was born in the 52nd century, I believe."

Art looked away from all of them, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "I...you can't expect me to believe that."

"You don't have to," the Doctor said, without malice. "You can believe whatever you like, Robertson. But you should remember that the universe is a wide and ridiculous place. Consider the evidence." He smiled. "Very few things are truly impossible." He reached into his pocket, and brought out a sticky note and a pen, on which he scrawled a series of numbers. Trish couldn't hide her shock as he handed the note to her and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "This is the number for the TARDIS phone. He seems like a nice bloke. If you want to keep in touch, you can." He drew back, still smiling. Louder, he said, "Shall we head back to the TARDIS, team?"

Trish only barely avoided crumpling the note as she fought back a wave of stress. "You all go on," she said. "I'll meet you there." Someone, she thought Amy, gently nudged her as the group departed. Jessica caught her eye and nodded once before turning around.

Art cleared his throat. He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept his eyes uncomfortably to the ground. "I was having a good time," he admitted, "before the whole...bomb thing."

"Me too." Trish pulled her jacket tighter around her. The crowd of people had begun to disperse, leaving the two of them almost entirely alone in front of the bar, with the exception of the police officers still roaming around. "You seem like a good guy, Art. I'm sorry about all of this." The moment his eyes lifted, Trish found hers dropping, unable to look directly at him.

"Maybe it makes me kind of crazy, but part of me almost believes you," he said.

Trish felt a humorless smile cross her face. She dared a glance up, and found him with a very similar expression. "Any questions about the 21st century I can answer to convince you?" she joked.

He laughed, but it was so quiet it sounded almost like a sigh. "You could have just researched it all."

"That would take a lot of dedication," Trish pointed out.

He shook his head, then paused. "Maybe I do have one question. Can I...can I see your…" he pointed to her pocket, and the square outline her cell made in it.

"Oh! My phone," she said. Hurriedly, she took it out and woke it up in order to pass it over to him. "There's no service," she explained with a dry smile, "because, you know, my carrier doesn't exist anymore."

Art turned it over in his hands like he thought he might break it, with an almost awed expression on his face. "I've never seen one of these outside of a museum," he said.

"Oh, stop, you're making me feel old," Trish replied. He handed it back to her, incredibly gently. Trish wondered how it must look to him - how _she_ must look. He still had that hint of pity in his eye, like he thought she belonged in an asylum. Maybe the only thing to do to change that would be to show him. But she wasn't sure that that was a good idea. Maybe it was better to leave it alone. Walk away.

He gave her a faltering smile. "It was nice to meet you, Trish."

"It was nice to meet you, too," she said. She swallowed hard. Then, after a moment of tense silence, she passed him the note. "It's the number for the Doctor's ship," she told him. "Since, you know, I won't get your call on my ancient phone."

He nodded, after a brief hesitation. "Okay," he said.

"You don't have to call," she assured him, "but if you did I wouldn't mind. If someday in the future you'd be interested in a trip...let me know."

"A trip," he repeated, the beginnings of a genuine smile twitching at his lips.

Trish wondered if the Doctor was always this uncertain when he proposed this kind of thing. He never seemed to be. "Right. Maybe we could swing by 21st century New York. I could give you a tour."

He huffed a faint laugh. "Okay. Maybe I'll take you up on that."

She couldn't tell if he was lying or not. But it was sweet of him to try. And she could pretend, too. She smiled. "See you around."

His tiny smile widened. "See you."

Trish turned, and walked around to the back of the bar, where the TARDIS stood blue and warm by the dumpster. She paused for a moment, half-hoping that she would hear footsteps behind her, or a voice calling for her to wait, but she heard nothing but the wind and the sound of revving engines from the parking lot.

Still, despite her disappointment, she felt that it had been a decent night. She'd had part of a nice date and helped prevent a disaster in the same night - few other women could claim the same.

And she doubted that Amy and the Doctor were done attempting to set her up. The Doctor had promised her a space boyfriend, after all.

* * *

 **This chapter was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoyed it!**

 **As I mentioned previously, I'll be taking a brief hiatus to get my life together and get this story finished. I'm sorry to leave again, but hopefully the advanced notice is more helpful. I appreciate everyone who's been keeping up with this throughout all the ups and downs!**

 **Thank you so much! I hope to see you soon :)**


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